


Curious books and embarrassing arguments - Crowley and Aziraphale struggling with sexuality

by Shimba97



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Anal Sex, Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Gay Relationship, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Sentimental, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shimba97/pseuds/Shimba97
Summary: Life in England was quiet after the Apocalypse did not happen; hurricanes, highway fires and demonic motorcyclists were a distant memory.No one remembered those two frantic and paradoxical days that had almost caused the extermination of the entire human race, apart from a handful of people counting on their fingers...«Hey, angel, listen. If this bookstore is a miracle, can you explain this book to me?»
Relationships: Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Crowley's fun and Aziraphale's embarrassment**

**Of wrong books in the right place**

Life in England was quiet after the Apocalypse did not happen; hurricanes, highway fires and demonic motorcyclists were a distant memory.

No one remembered those two frantic and paradoxical days that had almost caused the extermination of the entire human race, apart from a handful of people counting on their fingers...

Anathema, Newton, Madame Tracy, Sergeant Shadwell, the little group of kids led by the Antichrist, and of course Crowley and Aziraphale.

After the destruction and subsequent miraculous reconstruction of her library, Aziraphale had decided to enjoy those new moments in the company of her books, taking days off; she felt she deserved it.

Saving the world had not been child's play and his mortal body had suffered from the stress, but especially from the adrenaline of those days so excited.

Paradise was an idyllic place, but still ended up boring.

Gabriel had reproached him many times for his thoughts about boredom; though he was a model angel, a trusted follower of the Lord, he had never appreciated the little diversity of the heavenly tomes, which had made him curious and impatient. So when he was sent to Earth, he thought that if he was to live among humans, it would be a more pleasant stay if he surrounded himself with written papers and leather bindings.

That afternoon he was cataloguing new tomes that had appeared after the Apocalypse that had never happened, hovering on the ladder and with both hands busy and trembling; he was so focused on putting them in the right place that he didn't even notice the ringing of the entrance bell.

Crowley made an appearance with his usual serpentine, dragging gait, lowering his glasses a little so as to peer into the environment around him. He smiled amused as he found his friend several yards up.

«Angel!» he screamed, with a twisted smile.

«Ah!» the poor angel jerked on the spot, leaning and sticking to the ladder like a monkey, dropping all the books on the floor with a loud thud «For God's sake Crowley! What are you doing here, anyway? Why didn't you come in the front door?!» Said the blond man impatiently, touching his chest for a moment, then deflecting to fix his crooked bow tie.

«I came in the door, he said, but you didn't hear me. Blame it on your distraction» she spread her arms, raised an eyebrow.

Slowly Aziraphale returned with his feet on the ground, bent over to pick up the books, mortified by that ruinous fall which, in his defense, had not been voluntary at all «oh I'm sorry... I'll put you back in place.» he caressed the low-cut covers with concern, hearing a loud puff coming from his friend.

«They are just books, with a miracle they come back as new» said the demon bored.

After placing them on the baroque desk, the angel approached him threateningly, pointing his finger «these books are _only_ 300 years old, they are unique pieces!» he exclaimed, almost in the grip of a nervous breakdown.

«Hey angel, relax» he frowned, snapped his fingers. _Miraculously_ the books, a moment earlier badly beaten, had returned as good as new, with hand-bound «please, you're welcome».

Aziraphale sighed for relief, but without giving in «I don't owe you any thanks, you've remedied a despicable gesture of yours»

«Can I make it up to you with lunch at the Ritz?» tried him «I hear they put great lobsters on the menu»

The angel's eyes lit up «but if you tempt me like this...»

«Oh angel, I love to tempt you» in his skinny face grew a smile worthy of the worst demons «and I'm learning how to do it»

After the _day that hadn't happened_ many things had remained the same: Aziraphale still loved to surround himself with the more or less ancient scent of printed paper and his beloved food; Crowley spent his time taking care of his plants, still threatening them, but he had diminished his psychological stress as a tyrant; moreover his addiction to alcohol had remained unchanged.

The changed habits, on the other hand, concerned the time they spent together; if before they used to meet several days a week at the park to discuss work, now they spent almost every day in the company of each other. Crowley had happily agreed to try solid food, as well as bottles of wine, and was pleasantly impressed. It had been a tough fight, Aziraphale had had to explain to him dozens of times that the glass bottle couldn't be considered food, because even if it was solid... it wasn't edible.

On the other hand, now the angel would indulge in more moments in the company of a glass of Scotch or a Chardonnay aged a few hundred years, never getting drunk, at most he would go so far as to feel light-headed.

Their relationship had strengthened, especially after their respective factions had almost killed them and subsequently driven them out. They were not human, but they no longer had to submit to a strict regulation made up of miracles and temptations.

«Can I offer you a cup of tea? It is still 10 o'clock in the morning» said the angel, seeing his friend's hand fluttering in a bored way «I take that as a yes» he gave him his back and walked towards the back, where he put the teapot with the water on the fire, preparing two cups with the filter.

Crowley meanwhile was wandering around the shelves, noticing many titles unknown to him «new ones have popped up eh» he screamed out stretching his neck to make himself heard.

«Yes, I have to update my entire inventory» that was the angel's answer.

The demon wasn't paying attention until a shiny new cover made him stop. In his eyes flashed a lightning bolt of amusement and malice. He grabbed that book and put it near Aziraphale's desk.

A few minutes later the angel returned with two steaming cups in his hands «here you are» he kindly handed it to the demon, who took it. When he put his lips on the pottery his face contorted itself into an expression of disgust «what is this?!»

The angel smiled at him, _an old geezer_ , thought Crowley «it's a peculiar tea, it's called Pu'er and it's native to China, in particular to the Yunnan1 province» he explained in an almost flirtatious way, mixing its mixture and drinking it with taste «it's of the best quality»

«It tastes terrible» he countered his friend, continuing to drink it _as_ a _courtesy,_ but making a flask of vodka appear in his hand, pouring a generous amount, under the distraught eyes of his angel.

«Crowley! You've ruined the tea!» he said exasperated, stomped on the floor, offended «I won't offer you any more!»

«I'd be grateful Aziraphale» he smiled, trying to drink it again, finding the most pleasant taste «there, now it's much better».

They finished their drinks and sat down on the leather chairs in the bookcase, looking at each other.

«Angel, let me ask you something» began Crowley «have you already cataloged all the books here?»

«Not yet» admitted afflicted «there are so many and not using any help will take time»

«You could use miracles»

«I wouldn't want to irritate any more than my superiors»

«Angel, by now nobody cares about us» he broke the moment of Aziraphale's thoughts, which was violently brought back to reality «oh yes, yeah» that was his only comment «anyway I don't feel like Crowley, how long it takes doesn't matter, I've got things to do for the next few weeks»

The demon saw the angel's face saddened and extinguished. When he realized that they had both been dumped, they both felt disoriented, but if the demon recovered after a few hours, the angel had not been of the same opinion. He had served those he believed to be spotless and loyal for more than 6 millennia, especially because they had been created before him and he felt like a constant pupil trying to imitate the professor to impress him. But Aziraphale had never received a pat on the shoulder or a thank you, especially after saving the planet, ruining the plans of God or Satan.

«Hey angel, listen» tried to distract him «if this bookstore is a miracle, can you explain this book to me?» he got up to get it off the desk, handed it over.

Oh, he loved the angel's reaction, suddenly going crazy and stuttering «W- where did you get that?»

«Exactly there» he pointed it out to him with his index finger, unexpectedly next to the first Bible the world had had the honor to own.

The angel swallowed empty and reread the title: "The initiation of esoteric sex". Where did that blasphemous book come from? What was he supposed to do with it now? Throwing it away was out of the question, a tree had been mistreated to produce it, and he, as a nature-loving creature, could not commit this sin. After a few coughs he reached out to him «I give it to you Crowley»

The demon still looked him red in the face, but determined to get rid of that rather embarrassing burden «Oh angel, there's no need. I'm quite educated in this matter» he smiled devilishly, rekindling that adorable redness in the blond man's face, who lowered his arm« in what sense?»

Crowley ran his hand through his red hair, long again «do you want me to draw you a picture or shall we go straight to practice?»

\- CROWLEY! -

Oh yeah, a lot had changed since the Apocalypse that it wasn't.


	2. Crowley's confessions and Aziraphale's curiosity... Of unexpected gifts

**Crowley's confessions and Aziraphale's curiosity...  
Of unexpected gifts **

Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, with his thumbs massaging his temples: Crowley had not for a second stopped talking about that _damn_ book that appeared in the bookstore. He should have noticed, but he had been too slow in recataloguing the whole inventory. _Mea culpa, he_ said. That discussion had been going on for over an hour, and only his heavenly patience wouldn't allow him to kick him out with a kick in the butt, putting up the "Closed" sign as if his life depended on it (or mental health, it depended on the point of view).

  
«For the last time Crowley, stop talking about it!» he cried out frustrated and totally embarrassed, «I-I've never read that in my life! And I'm not going to!»

«Why not? It would be interesting to have your opinion about it» that demon was really too amused to stop nagging him.

«BECAUSE I DO NOT READ BLASPHEMIC BOOKS!» he shouted, with grainy eyes, standing there after a fit of nervousness «and if you could find something else to do to get me out of my mind I'd be grateful!»

  
Crowley opened his mouth, but he didn't breathe. This time the angel was truly at the end of his rope. _You're losing it, old man._  
«All right, all right, I'm leaving» he raised his hands as a sign of surrender, got up from the couch «but we'll have to talk about it again» he waved his hand, gave him his back «see you later, angel» took his glasses off the coffee table and stepped out of the bookcase, climbed into the Bentley and spurred away from him.  
Aziraphale was banned a few seconds, with his gaze pointed where the demon had left the scene a few seconds earlier. He closed his eyes, sighing with relief, but also with anger. Sometimes he wondered if that madman had a thinking brain. Or if he just used it the right way.

  
He laid the two cups of tea on the tray, cleaning them carefully, then returned to the living room, walking towards the door and exhibiting that blessed "Closed". He had no desire for human interaction, especially with customers who wanted to buy collector's books; although he was a heavenly being, he was jealous of his almost maniacally guarded possessions. He decided to get back to work to finish the inventory; he had to check that _everything_ was at his order, to avoid new friend appearances and bad headaches.

  
After a few hours he finished, emitting a satisfied sigh; it had been demanding; the books that had appeared were about a hundred: he had not stopped for a moment. He had not found any other volume of _that subject_ , with relief.

  
He looked at the clock: 16:13 p.m.; he still had a whole afternoon to plan, so he decided that a walk would not hurt him. I'll keep my back numb, taking my coat.  
The almost spring air of March made him breathe deeply into his lungs, closing his eyes for a moment. Wherever he turned, he noticed that the winter was giving way to brighter colors: the trees had begun to bloom again, the grass was growing and the flowers dyed entire expanses of lawns. He walked the sidewalks of London, heading for _their place_ , for hundreds of years now. Nothing changed in that park, as if their presence helped to preserve the fauna and flora of that place.  
When he arrived, to his surprise he found his place occupied. He decided to approach cautiously, ready to _ask nicely to_ move to some other bench, but when he was close enough he stopped: Crowley was sitting in his usual dishevelled manner, with his glasses in one hand and his gaze fixed on the fountain in front of him.  
"Hey" greeted the angel, seeing him jump on the spot. He had not noticed his presence because he was overthinking. Gee, then the question "I didn't want to scare you" was serious.

  
The demon made a soft gesture with his hand, with carelessness, remaining silent. «What are you doing here?»

«What you seem to be doing here» was his answer «my house is too quiet» he admitted, watching the ducks swimming peacefully in the pond next to them.

The angel bit his cheek: maybe hunting him like that wasn't such a good idea, even if it seemed _perfect_ at the time.  
«I've finished the inventory» he began.  
«Good.»

  
Aziraphale looked up to the sky; that demon was offended, really? He must have been the one who was offended, but it seemed as if the roles were reversed, and he was wrong.  
«Listen, Crowley, I didn't mean to be rude before» he sighed «just that I...»  
«Angry?" Yes, I noticed» he stopped him. «you know, angel? You're changing» he said.  
The blond opened his eyes wide, turning to him. «What do you mean?»  
Crowley turned just for a moment, to make sure he got his attention. «When we met you were all smiles, gratitude and patience. Now if I looked at you the way I look _at you_ , you'd see another angel» he said seriously.  
Aziraphale frowned. He didn't look any different; maybe he'd gotten into a few vices during those millennia, like eating good food and sleeping now and then, but beyond that... he didn't notice anything else.  
«Crowley, I haven't changed.»

  
The demon smiled, turning completely towards him." Oh really? Beyond those little temptations you allow yourself, didn't you notice that you've become nervous, with little patience? Or that you're snooping around where you shouldn't. I look at you Aziraphale, I know you so well by now, so well that I notice these little details that you miss" he concluded, putting on his dark glasses again, lifting his face upwards, to sunbathe.  
Aziraphale remained silent, immersed in his thoughts. He believed that those behaviors of his were due to too much permanence on Earth; in the background he had been influenced by humans and their behaviors, more or less appropriate. Curiosity had always been in his nature, which is why he was seen by his superiors as a burden to bear for the greater good.  
He laid his hands on his belly, observing nature «I have not changed, I have _evolved»_ he explained calmly, «you too have not remained the same demon that I have known»

«I have not assumed ambiguous behavior.»

«Oh come on Crowley! You drink so much that if you were human you would have been dead long ago» he looked up to the sky «you like good music, you drive around London in your car»

_always risking making an attempt on someone's life_ , he thought, «you indulge in the little vices of going to pubs or staying indoors all day to sleep or whatever! It's not like I'm blind» he said, grumbled, earning an eyebrow raise from his friend.  
«We've both changed then» he stood up, smoothing his black jacket «there's a big difference between accepting it and admitting it, _my dear»_ he sang, then tinkering with the inside pocket of his cardigan, coming out with a rectangular, sugar cane coloured pack «open it when you're in the library, it's delicate» he handed it to him.  
Aziraphale stretched out his insecure hand, shaking it. In 6 centuries it had been very rare a gift from him; he remembered more than anything else favors or entrances to the scene to avoid his death; at most during the Nazi regime, when he had blown up that church, he had safeguarded those books unique in the world, making them come out unharmed.  
«Thanks» to that word, the demon replied with a nod of his head, just relaxing.

  
«See you later, angel» he greeted him again that day, with his back to him.  
He saw him drifting further and further away, until he could no longer distinguish his figure. At that point he placed the package in the inside pocket of his coat and made his way to the bookstore.  
Twenty minutes later, after entering and storing his jacket, he sat on the sofa, quivering with curiosity. He opened it carefully, being disappointed to find a book in his hands; _another one_.  
He read the dedication on the first blank page:  
 _ **Read it and tell me what you think.**_  
 _ **Crowley.**_  
He smiled, turning it over to read the title; _Fifty Shades of Grey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Shimba


	3. Crowley's secrets and Aziraphale's thoughts- Of ancient arts

  
  


**Crowley's secrets and Aziraphale's thoughts**

**Of ancient arts**

Aziraphale looked at that book for several hours, undecided. If Crowley had given him that book, then there was something _dark_ in there.

He'd spent the last half hour staring at him. He'd come closer, then he'd think it over and come back, and then after about ten minutes he'd graze the cover and retreat hesitantly, shrugging his shoulders. What if it had been a simple book of fiction? A novel to make him daydream? Maybe he was judging his friend just like that book, from the cover. He sighed back, grabbed him and sat in the chair. If he didn't like it, he would have stopped.

The angel spent most of the evening reading that book.

At the beginning it was a fairly pleasant and smooth reading, until he grabbed his eyes and got to _that part._ He blushed up to his ears, closing the novel with a dull thud, breathing more breathlessly. He knew that the demon had made him fall into the trap: it was all so blasphemous! Those _recreational_ activities were shameless and scandalous, for God's sake! He looked away, embarrassed. Yet the couple seemed to feel something more than lust. _**Come on, Aziraphale, sex is the oldest art in the world!**_ He shook his head, trying to ignore that little voice that sounded so much like his favorite demon. She had to remember Sodom and Gomorrah? All that perversion had led to the deaths of thousands of people. _**But you can't deny you never thought about it**_. He looked up to the sky, annoyed. It had happened. Very rarely. Maybe a few more times. But it wasn't the stuff of angels; he was already profaning his body with mortal food, as Gabriel had told him some time ago, he wouldn't stoop so low. He returned to his self, taking a deep breath and reopening the book. Maybe the characters would declare their eternal love, get married... and he loved love, he was the bearer of good news and could feel that feeling everywhere.

From that moment on he spent all night bent over those freshly printed and modern pages, biting his lip from time to time, when things were getting more malicious, until he became saddened by the plot. He stopped only when, looking at the time, he discovered to his surprise and dismay that it was 4 o'clock in the morning; he had sat in his armchair for hours.

She passed her hand through her blonde hair, deciding to have tea to relax, as she had a not inconsiderable inner turmoil. Her thoughts went without thinking about Crowley. He wondered if he was awake at that hour, if he was watering his plants, or if he was whizzing around London at a non-human speed in his vintage car. In that second a crazy thought touched him: maybe if he had been here, with him, they could have discussed that book together, over a cup of tea and black coffee for him, bickering like an old couple over the direct and malicious words of the demon, addressed only to him to embarrass him more than he already was.

His eyes glowed, finding himself blushing: those reflections were not appropriate, not at that time of night, not after reading half of that book. It just wasn't appropriate. He was an angel and as such he had to behave according to the angelic canons, that is purity, goodness and the spirit of sacrifice. He left the tea alone, turned off the table lamp that had accompanied him until the moment before and went up to his quarters. He had a few hours to rest and settle down. He put on his sugar-paper pyjamas and closed his eyes.

He didn't notice that a few metres further on, leaning against his Bentley, a demon holding a pad and a pencil had been watching him for hours.

It was the alarm clock that forced him to get up. Aziraphale scratched his eyes out, focusing on his bedroom. The sun had not yet fully risen, but he had to fix the bookcase to make it as presentable as possible.

He wore one of his usual clear suits, looking in the mirror: he was impeccable, as always, like his eternal features, which had not changed for 6 millennia. For a moment he imagined himself human, perhaps with a few wrinkles or white hair, while he was enjoying his pension who knows in which part of rural England, perhaps in Scotland. He chased that thought away, finding it unsuitable, _yet_.

He went downstairs to the kitchen and prepared some good tea, tidying up the shelves and remaining satisfied with the work. One thing was certain: his love for all that culture would never change. He carefully placed the Cedid1 atlas, a rare piece of his ancient collection, and put it away as if it were the Holy Water for the inhabitants of the world below.

At 8 o'clock on the dot he opened the bookstore, standing behind the counter and waiting for some customers. He heard the bell ringing and looked up, smiling instinctively.

«Good morning dear» he started it.

«Hello angel» the demon greeted him, resting on the counter with his now distinctive walk.

«You're early today» replied the blond «did you not get much sleep?»

«I didn't sleep» he shrugged «I didn't come home»

«Ah» he said. He was disappointed to learn what he had suspected the night before, not even understanding why he had that reaction «and w-where have you been?» he asked with interest.

«Around» he answered vaguely «I drank a few bottles and then I went around my _little one_ _»_

If the angel hadn't known to whom, indeed, what he was referring to, he would probably have been irritated and offended. Because 6000 years together, to save their lives, could not be put aside by someone, a human.

«I understand» took a break «anyway, I read the book you gave me»

The demon looked up, interested - How did you find him? -

«Interesting» he allowed himself «I haven't finished it yet, but it's... pleasant, eliminating _chapters_ _»_

Crowley smiled amused «but you've read them» he was even more pleased when he noticed a rather obvious redness in the angel's cheeks.

«It was part of the plot, just for that» he justified himself, looking away «I wish it would end with a wedding» the demon's laugh turned away «what is it?»

The glasses of the red one fell dangerously down towards your nose «oh nothing, I'm imagining how you'll feel when you finish it» _that wasn't a good omen, not even a little bit._

Aziraphale swallowed it empty, looking at it «so you read it»

«Sure, from first to third»

«Third? There's two more?» He gouged out his eyes.

«You can also read the first one and stop» he smiled amused «since it is a reading, as you say... blasphemous» _bastard_.

The blond man ajar closed his eyes... okay, that's okay... he said it was unconvincing. He would have decided later.

After a few minutes of silence from both of us, the demon took the floor «I remind you that you and I have a lunch at the Ritz to honor»

Aziraphale smiled, thankful he hadn't forgotten their appointment «how about today, dear?»

«In fact I meant today, angel»

«Oh... very well, I see no reason to delay any longer» looked at the clock «we still have several hours before lunch, why don't you stay?» he said on hold.

He saw the demon pull back his red hair, pulling up his glasses «I would, but I have things to do»

«Things? Like what?» he asked a little too fast.

_«_ _Demon stuff_ , you wouldn't understand angel» she spread her arms «but I promise I'm here to... let's see» he looked at the pendulum clock attached to the wall «12 o'clock»

At that point, after a final farewell, the two friends split up, each on their own way.

If for Aziraphale those hours passed too slowly, even though he had resumed reading the book, the same could not be said for Crowley.

The demon had spent the entire morning in his apartment, more precisely in his study. It is not known what demonic misdeed he was committing; one glimpsed only a leather notebook and a pencil.

When he closed the door behind him he sighed: he had a lunch to attend.

At one minute past noon the angel and the demon were inside the Bentley, whizzing through the narrow streets of the British city; in just 5 minutes they arrived at their destination. The first one out was Aziraphale, with his eyes wide open - oh heavens Crowley! I'm never getting in this car again!

«You say it every time angel» answered bored red, closing the car and crossing the road, seeing out of the corner of your eye that the friend had not yet moved «so, do you want to come or not? I can't block the table all day!» he exclaimed, taking a big puff and some whispered words from the angel, difficult to understand, except for that _idiot_ who picked up by pure chance. He smiled, intrigued by his human and not very angelic way of doing things.

Anyway, once they entered and sat down at the usual table, with their orders in the waiter's hand, the two friends-enemies went back to being the same as always.

That lunch passed pleasantly between delicious main courses and the usual aged wine, appreciated by both, especially by Crowley.

«This restaurant excels century after century!» exclaimed Aziraphale, wiping his mouth with a napkin «is a certainty I could never refuse»

«Here you can eat well» admitted the red «but it's not the only place in London» he drank another sip of white wine, in line with the fish menu «if you want then... I could introduce you to them»

The angel shut up, looking at him and blushing «like a date?» He saw him look away.

«A what? No angel, just... a dinner with friends, to introduce you to other culinary tastes»

«Oh I see» he always answered with a kind smile. I wonder why he thought of it, but above all, why he said it out loud.

«But it'll just be the two of us, so if you want to think like that... then yes, it is» he was amazed, looking at the empty plate «I don't mind»

«Oh, me neither» he brought a glass of wine to his mouth to dampen the embarrassment «I mean... we're friends, eating together is normal after 6 millennia we've known each other...»

«Uhm... angel» called him Crowley.

«A-an Apocalypse foiled and-»

«Angel?»

«The mortal punishment we avoided by devising that insane plan...»

«ANGEL!» exclaimed the demon, passing his hand in front of his face «did you jam?»

Aziraphale suddenly blushed, realizing he had said a set of words in a flurry, dictated by his embarrassment «N-no, I'm fine» smiled tensely at him «did you want to tell me something?»

«Ice cream»

«Ice cream?» he asked confused.

«Yes, angel, the ice cream» he pointed it out to him on the table «as soon as it arrived your brain turned off; it's melting» he simply said.

«Oh... thanks» he took the spoon, thinking where he could go to hide after the foolish figure he'd made in front of him.

They finished enjoying their dessert, paying for it (the angel took care of it, of course) and went outside, just shivering with the fresh wind that had hit London in the meantime.

They got in the car and Crowley drove him back to the bookstore and got off with him.

«I've got some great Blanquette de Limoux from 1597, you wanna try it?» asked the blonde once inside, resting his coats on one of the armchairs present.

«How do you get any? It's very old» he heard about it.

«I have worked some miracles here and there» he justified himself, coming back with two glasses and the bottle he put on the desk «here, here» he poured the clear contents into the glass and handed it to him.

«An angel who collects favors, does so much as a demon» he smiled.

«I did nothing malicious, unlike _you_ _»_ he raised his eyes to heaven «and then that monk produced hundreds in his monastery...»

«Oh» Crowley crossed his legs, swirling the chalice, like a wine connoisseur «an angel _charging_ a miracle to a monk in a monastery. That's surprising»

The angel puffed, slightly upset by that quick and superficial analysis «you're always the usual»

«I know» he said slyly.

Evening had fallen, and Crowley and Aziraphale had been saying goodbye for half an hour. The angel had settled the little mess that had been created by the demon's visit, thinking that although there were no customers (or there were, but without buying anything because he didn't sell his beloved books) his business was still going on. _Divine goodness,_ he thought.

When everything was in its place he turned the lamp back on in the desk and sat down; he wanted to finish that book so he could talk to Crowley about it and _maybe_ peek _at_ the other two volumes.

He opened the book and sighed: another night was just around the corner.

The pendulum clock in the room chimed at 5 o'clock in the morning, making the poor angel jumping as he read. The last pages were missing, and in the state he was in surprise, sorrow and excitement, he had not noticed the dawn now near. When even the last page was finished, he got up from his armchair, rubbing his eyes; it had not ended as he had imagined, not even remotely. _But there were always the other two volumes._

He yawned, stretching and turning distractedly towards the street, turning immediately afterwards to turn off the lamp. In a flash of a second, he gritted his eyes, turning towards the glass of the bookcase: he had sworn that he had seen Crowley there, on the sidewalk, staring at him, but now that spot was empty. He thought he had imagined it all. Sighing, he walked to his quarters, undressed and put on his pyjamas. The night was still young, but he, alas, had duties to perform.

The demon hid immediately after seeing Aziraphale look at him: he couldn't afford to be seen, how would he justify it? _“_ _Yo_ _u know, I get bored at night, so I'm spying on you like a maniac”_ , wasn't a good idea. He came home, watching the dawn break; at that hour he didn't need his glasses, so he closed them and put them in his pocket. He liked that object, but many times he felt almost out of place, because who could accept those reptilian eyes?

He climbed the stairs and opened the door to the house and filled a glass of bourbon, looking around: the plants were shining and in good health and the draft of the Mona Lisa was intact and shiny as usual. She drank her drink in a sip, looking towards her studio: she had a _job_ to continue.

1 : Cedid Atlas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, i hope you enjoyed the chapter.  
> Shimba


	4. Crowley's sheets and Aziraphale's paranoia - Of impulsive gestures

**Crowley's sheets and Aziraphale's paranoia**

**Of impulsive gestures**

Aziraphale sat down on the bed after breaking the alarm.

He put his hand over his face, as he had done the morning before: Crowley hadn't shown up for _two days_.

If he was busy, she would have warned him, wouldn't she? Or at least a phone call to let him know he was safe.

After the Apocalypse and the bad experience with one's own factions, the fear of being constantly in danger had not diminished, not at all. Wherever he went, alone and with Crowley, he ended up looking at himself with suspicion and anxiety, waiting at any moment to recognize some _familiar_ face. Surely he knew that Heaven would not for long let go of his erroneous and foolish behaviour of stopping _the end of the world_ , throwing away centuries of plans and agreements between the two parties; especially he thought that someone like Gabriel would not accept to be mocked by an _incompetent and inferior_ angel.

He got up tired, not at all ready to face that day, and when he saw himself through the glass of his room, he was as grey and dark as his soul at that moment.

He looked up at the clock, 9:00. If he hadn't shown up, he would have done something to him, yes.

And 9:00 became 10:00; and 10:00 became 11:00... until 2:00. No news had yet reached his ears.

He sighed frustrated, determined to phone him; he had to at least try, even if he did not believe he would answer. He dialed the number, waiting, nervous; the phone rang but the answering machine went off;

_**Hi, I'm Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do. Do it in style.** _

I'm toasting slightly «Hi Crowley, it's me, Aziraphale» he sighed «what happened to you? Haven't seen you for a while... Got into trouble?» he looked at a fixed point «because if you did, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?» he kept quiet for a few seconds « _damn it_ Crowley, call me back when you get this!» he slammed the handset, ran his hand through his hair, frustrated.

There was nothing he could do, _nothing_ , except wait. Patience had always been one of his virtues, when it came to others. Yeah _, others,_ but not Crowley. With him he couldn't be, because for one reason or another it made him lose it; when he was stubborn enough to persuade him to make an idea or gesture out of his habits, when he tempted him with food or some other little sin, or when he was in the most complete _mud_ and sought his help to remedy it. In the latter he was immediately panicked, because in his heart he wanted to protect him at all costs, but it was very difficult for him not to disobey orders from above; that argument had been one of the main ones in their quarrels.

To think over what he should or should not do was a waste of time; at that time the bookstore was closed for lunch. He thought he'd stop by his apartment, hoping he wouldn't find it trashed.

He grabbed his coat and got out, hailing a cab.

All the way there, he stood in anxiety, straight on the seat, rubbing his hands; he looked out the window, noticing how everything was going on. People walked quietly on the sidewalks, perhaps pushing a pram or simply leading the dog on a leash. For a moment he felt he envied them.

About ten minutes later, he was in front of the big building where the demon lived. He took the elevator that took him directly to the floor and walked to his security door.

_Looks like it wasn't broken into_ , he thought, with relief. He rang the doorbell, but no one came to open it. _What if he was inside but unconscious?_ Here's the paranoia again. With a small snap the door opened, miraculously, making him burst in with impatience. Nothing, absolutely nothing at all. In the half-light he was able to see that everything was in place: the green and shining plants in their corner, the draft of the Mona Lisa hiding the safe was intact and the room was impeccable, as always.

The angel's first reaction was one of total relief: Crowley hadn't been attacked at home, but it could mean that he had been caught in an ambush.

He took a better look at the environment around him: everything seemed fine, if it hadn't been for the door of his studio, closed. He approached the door and knocked, revealing it to be empty; he lowered the handle, but the door was locked. He grew gloomy; what was so precious to him that he hid there? He thought about it, struggling to make the wrong choice for _sure,_ but by then he was curious and determined to know what was hidden in there. He snapped his fingers again, opening the room. He found a simple study, with oak furniture and an armchair, with a desk made of the same wood and full of books scattered upstairs.

_But... he didn't read_.

He turned towards the armchair, reading the titles of the various covers, being surprised and almost shocked.

_Nietzesche, Baudelaire, Allan Poe,_ what the hell?

The more he read, the more confused he felt. That his friend was having some sort of 6th century crisis?

He found many white sheets of paper, but also pencils, on top of that table, of different sizes and thicknesses, widely used, he thought.

He tried to focus on something else and kept looking around. There were no bookshelves, just a huge window behind him that gave light to the whole room. When he looked down, he noticed that the drawers were not fully closed. _A peek wouldn't offend anyone, would it?_ He wondered, but this time he hesitated. Opening those drawers would have invaded his privacy, more than he allowed himself in times of peace. He had touched the knob, without moving; he took a breath, partially opening it, because a _presence in_ front of him led him to make a backward leap, caught in foul play and in full murder.

«What are you doing, angel?» he asked hard but awfully calm Crowley, arms crossed at the chest and his back resting on the dark oak door.

Aziraphale didn't know what to say; he had been a fool just by forcing the front door, but he had gone terribly overdoing it by going into that personal room too, poking around more and more.

«D-Dear!» exclaimed in a loud voice «I was worried! I haven't heard from you for almost 48 hours!»

«I've been busy»

«But at least one phone call... I was worried about you!» admitted the angel, standing still, with his cheeks flushed and his heartbeats racing.

«So worried that you'd sneak up on me, even break into my house and meddle in _my_ business?» his voice was nothing but a low growl «this is _my_ office and you shouldn't be here»

«I'm sorry dear» looked down, guilty «but I just wanted to...»

«Prying, as usual, angel. Outside» the demon blocked him.

«...What?»

«I SAID OUT!» he called out, opening his arm, telling him to do it.

That act of his must have terrified the angel, who came out of his study and his house in seconds, taking the stairs; and he never took the stairs, he never even went running.

A few minutes later he was at the main entrance of the building, panting, sweating and completely mortified. He had only one question: Why did he react like that?

He literally kicked him out. And terrified. But those were details that were currently in the background. Crowley approached the desk, looking at the drawers half open. That naive, intrusive angel hadn't been able to see anything, thanks only to his providential intervention. He opened them and took the papers in his hands, sitting tiredly in the armchair; that was his greatest torment, his deepest obsession. He didn't know how much longer he would last, and above all, how much he would keep Aziraphale away from there.

The angel returned to the bookstore with the mood on the floor. She should have apologized to him for years, to make it up to him. He couldn't bear to be treated badly, but this time he really deserved it, only... the look he saw in those golden irises had destabilized him. Fear? He couldn't believe it. Crowley didn't have any, and when he did, he hid it behind an ironic smile and meaningless phrases. He was more and more worried about him, because he _loved_ him, he tried to say. He clenched his fist, bitter. In the last period he was constantly thinking about what it would be like if he were a normal human being, unaware of the existence of Heaven and Hell, without moral and ethical obligations. He was sinning of presumption, he knew it, but he did not aspire to become more powerful, quite the contrary. He sighed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. _Thy will be done._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, thanks for reading.  
> Shimba


	5. Of Crowley's suffering and Aziraphale's memories- Of hurried moves

**Of Crowley's suffering and Aziraphale's memories**

**Of hurried moves**

After that embarrassing and disastrous interlude at his best friend's house, Aziraphale had decided to reopen the bookstore, so as to keep himself busy for those few hours that separated him from closing.

He had had the bitterness in his mouth all the time, feeling the guilt getting more and more insistent, going up from his stomach, up to his throat, preventing him from thinking freely.

He had never been a lazy guy, the angel, and yet that day he had knocked over a whole stack of antique books on the floor and raised his voice with a very pressing customer about the sale of a very rare tome, _The Bay Psalm Book_ _1_ _, which he felt_ ~~was~~ untraceable; he had sent it without much hesitation out of his shop.

At 7 p.m. on the dot he posted the "Closed" behind the glass, letting himself go to a sigh of relief; he didn't want to hear any more for that day, not at all.

He prepared himself for his much coveted tea, put the teapot on and in the meantime tidied up the little mess he had created. He took some books, stacked one on top of the other, in precarious equilibrium, to move them at the end of the room, in the "History and Culture" section, but he stumbled on something, falling ruinously to the ground with a dry thud.

«AAAAAH!» the books flew not very far, each in a different position. He massaged his aching bum «but damn...» he turned around, looking at what he had tripped over, and stopped breathing. What was he doing there? _That box hadn'_ t been opened in a long, long time. He got up slowly, picking up the books and placing them on the counter, letting go with a sigh, looking back: maybe it was time to bring up the past.

The demon had walked a long way without a goal.

He had tried to calm his nerves with gardening, but it seemed that not even his plants wanted to help him, beautifully ignoring his threats. _Stupid plants, I'll lock them in the cellar, nothing but photosynthesis!_

He had drunk a few bottles of wine, along the way, not caring that it was barely 5 p.m. on that grey day.

He leaned against the railings of Westminster Bridge, looking out over the Thames, with its dark water and the London Eye dominating the view and even the whole of London.

Maybe he was too hard on Aziraphale. He'd hurt him by hunting him like that, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He took another sip, huffing. He felt guilty. And he never was, unless the victim of his bad temper was nothing but his angel.

He took the last sip of wine, threw the bottle into the public trash can next to him and started walking again. He had gone terribly soft and it was his own fault.

With the steaming cup next to him he placed the antique box on the desk, caressing it gently, removing the lid and putting it next to him.

He looked at those yellowed letters, each with a symbol, an address, a _story._

They were a journey into the past that took him back in time, leaving him with a feeling of sweet melancholy.

He took one of those carefully folded and bound sheets, barely shivering.

All of a sudden he found himself catapulted into the past, seeing himself in that studio again, with sheet and inkwell, the suffused atmosphere given by a lighted candle, trembling and with his heart in his throat for emotion.

He lightly caressed the words written with that unmistakable and confusing calligraphy, almost dispersive, barely shaking. He missed it, terribly.

As a friend, as a confidant. He had been an extraordinarily cultured and brilliant man, very eccentric and extravagant, who had simply won him over with his words.

He was in love with it, denying it would have been stupid and reckless, but his heart, as well as his head, had always belonged to _him_.

He stayed reading for a few hours, ending up falling asleep, squeezed into that _romantic_ warmth _._

Eight o'clock. Crowley pinned it, put his glasses on his nose, frowned. Why did humans have a habit of screaming when they talked on their cell phones? He didn't want to hear about their _silly_ , easily solved problems if they had less pride and more courage to face them. At least he made up for the time.

He ended up walking through the streets of the city, listless and in a bad mood. He had appealed to all the patience he had so as not to incinerate a boy on a bicycle, certainly a courier, who had ended up on him.

_Enough, he_ decided. He would have gone to see him, not to apologize, of course, because he deserved it, but to accept that he wasn't offended, of course. He didn't feel the need to see him, not at all.

A few minutes later he found himself in front of the bookstore. He made a grimace, slightly altered by alcohol, fixing his hair. He came in through the entrance, hearing the bell ringing, but did not see his usual face come out of the counter. He began to look for him with his eyes, taking off his black glasses and putting them in his pocket, finding him asleep on his desk shortly afterwards.

He sighed, approaching slowly, trying not to smile at the scene that had appeared before him: the angel was resting on his right arm, his mouth ajar and his gaze relaxed. It would all have been very tender if a big smear of drool on his sleeve hadn't ruined everything. He took a few seconds to look at him: his light hair was getting longer, but strangely enough he hadn't cut it yet; he hoped it wouldn't, because it looked good on him; his face relaxed, with those little wrinkles of his, which were accentuated when he smiled, were stretched out. He averted his gaze from his face to concentrate on his hand squeezed around a sheet of paper. He looked at those letters with interest, approaching just to peek. He found himself stiffening, clenching his jaw. _What did it all mean?_

He dropped him carelessly, turning around and sitting in the chair in front of him. He touched his pocket, pulling out his old friends, the leather pad and a pencil.

Aziraphale barely woke up, moving his dry mouth to try to wake up. He barely opened his eyes, screaming and backing away with his chair, which got caught on the carpet, causing it to fall ruinously to the ground - Ouch that hurt! -

«Happy Awakening, angel» smiled amused Crowley, crossing his legs.

«For God's sake, Crowley! You scared the hell out of me! How did you get in here?»

«From the door, of course»

«How could I not hear you?»

«You were asleep. And drooling, to be precise»

The angel came strutting up and massaging his backside for the second time in a few hours «You could have woken me up!»

«Why, you were just resting. And I'm not _evil_ enough to wake up a poor angel who falls asleep reading _letters_ _»_

If it had been possible, the blond man's cheeks would have blushed louder, setting him on fire «don't... You shouldn't have read»

«But I did it» he got up from his chair with a single momentum, approaching him «Do you want to punish me for that?»

«Oh dear... I don't punish!» he lifted the chair off the floor, put it back on its feet «and I don't think you did something so... terrible as to be punished»

«Why didn't you tell me about this?» to the confused gaze of the angel continued « _that one_. You had an affair»

«Oh... it was a long time ago»

«It might have been in the Middle Ages, but to find out it dates back almost to 1900... leaves me, how shall I put it, surprised»

«It's... complicated» tried to say the angel, tidying up the letters, who put them back in the box.

«What's complicated, angel?» approached him, looked him in the face «that you had fallen for a man?»

«I wasn't in love with him» he said low, supporting his gaze.

At that point something in Crowley lined up, feeling almost that annoying _crack at_ chest height «had you... fallen in love?»

Aziraphale did not answer, but his silence was complete enough to silence Crowley.

«I understand» the demon felt uncomfortable, but that question pressed on the tip of his tongue «did he reciprocate?»

«Yes» the way he said it triggered something inside the demon.

«Did you sleep with him, Aziraphale?»

That question surprised the angel, both because of the way it had been said, almost painfully, and because Crowley had used his name; he rarely said it.

«Yes»

That crack the demon had heard became deep, feeling, perhaps for the first time in his entire existence, the _broken heart_ syndrome.

He couldn't believe he'd given himself to the first man who took him to heart; _his angel_.

Then all that talk about sex, about his unregulated life, full of excesses, had been a written, meaningless lecture.

All the embarrassment he felt when she enjoyed teasing him by describing her favorite positions was false.

The jokes, the ambiguous phrases, the _blasphemous books_ , everything, was a cover, to protect his demure image.

Anger. That's what he felt at that revelation. She kept him in the dark, him, her best friend.

Aziraphale noticed Crowley's inner storm, placing a hand on his shoulder «you can't blame me, _dear_. We never saw each other, at most a few times a century. You were in Italy at the time, with your friend _Gabriel_ _2_ ; we lived two separate lives, as acquaintances»

«And then what? In 1941 I saved your life angel, you and your stupid books, risking my life by entering a Church. You didn't even think to tell me then?»

The angel at that moment had understood _many_ things, more important than that.

«I thought it was no longer relevant that you knew»

The demon sighed, disappointed in his behavior. On the one hand, he could _almost_ feel his embarrassment talking about it, even after their 11-year pact, the Apocalypse escaped and the exchange of bodies to escape the punishments of their respective factions, but the _human_ Crowley refused to believe it. He had to know now.

«Who was that?»

«What?»

«Who was he?» did you see him look away «Oscar?»

The angel turned around, his eyes wide open «how... how do you know that?»

«It was written outside» alluding to the letters «so, do you want to tell me or should I go check that moldy box myself?»

«Don't you dare!» he stood at the front, put his hands on the desk.

«Tell me!»

«Oscar, Oscar Wilde, _damn it_ Crowley!» he blew nervously, fumbling, stiff as if he'd just been caught with his hands in the jam.

Crowley thinned his reptilian pupils, upset. _Oscar Wilde, the writer famous throughout the world for his works and excesses, which had led him to an untimely death._

_His friend Gabriel and he had not been very different: both aesthetes, lovers of pleasure in all its forms and with libertine lives: they had put aside morality for something more overwhelming: pleasure._

Crowley must have seen this coming somehow. He felt it, deep down. Such an educated, generous, good-looking man, in the eyes of others called _adorable, he couldn't_ have been tied only to his books for more than 6 millennia.

«Crowley...?»

The demon turned his eyes away from the river of thought to devote himself to him «Hmm?»

«I... I asked what you were doing here»

«Nothing, I just thought I'd check you weren't offended» he shrugs.

He saw him relaxing, hinting at a smile «no, I wasn't offended... you were right, I shouldn't have come into your house like a burglar»

«Yeah, you really didn't have to»

The angel's cheeks turned a delicate pink, which illuminated her face.

«It won't happen again, dear» just as soon as «do you want... tea?»

«As long as it's not that crap from last time»

«Oh dear, dear!» he mumbled «I'm not wasting those bags again for a... wine gourmand!»

«Oh angel, so you move me» he said theatrically «so I accept good wine, maybe very, very aged» he took a long resigned sigh.

«So be it»

«And all that scotch! I didn't understand what he was supposed to do! I thought he was doing diy, you know?!» he laughed at the angel, red in the face.

«Diy? Are you serious, angel? I could tell!» he took another sip «and with the ropes you thought? That he wanted to create a swing?»

Even Aziraphale had given up tea in the end.

«Oh... no, of course not, I'm not that senile!» did he put his third empty glass on the table, _or was it the fourth?_ «but not that one!»

«Well, that was it! Liked it?» he slylyly asked for the red, lying on the red couch.

«I-I wouldn't say liked it, but... accepted, okay?»

«You read it all at once, admit it»

«….»

«I thought so»

«You're the one who gave it to me!»

«You didn't have to read it, I didn't force you!» he defended himself, sitting down quickly, clutching the back of the sofa «how he spins...» he held his head, regained consciousness shortly afterwards «by the way, angel, would you like to see it?»

«What...?»

«Like what, _the movie!_ _»_ exclaimed with obviousness, getting up «where do you keep the television?»

«What...? I don't own it»

«HOW CAN YOU NOT OWN IT! THIS IS THE 10TH CENTURY, BY SATAN!»

«Shhhh don't scream!» he got up, fixed his bow tie «I don't see any, I lead a life...»

«Boring!»

«Focused on culture» run it.

«So boring... well I'll fix it» snapped my fingers, made a plasma TV materialize, on a table with wheels «so you can carry it around»

«Oh, uh... Thank you» smiled at him, with the shiny eyes from the alcohol in his body.«

Don't thank me yet...» waved a CD between his fingers «the fun starts now»

They had sat on the couch, far enough away not to touch each other, but close enough to feel each other's warmth; with the light off they had started the DVD materialized by the demon, making it play.

Aziraphale was tense; Crowley had noticed it, and instead of watching the film for more than ten minutes, he studied every movement of the angel, discovering it almost uncomfortable.

«Angel?»

«Yes, dear?» he had turned towards him, trying to see his face thanks to the lack of light on the screen.

«You okay?»

«Indeed! Why do you ask?» he smiled nervously, in a higher tone of voice.

«You look nervous» she looked at him, watching him turn towards the screen and glean his eyes, returning to look at him immediately «not... I'm not nervous»

The demon looked in his direction, and a mellifluous little smile came out of him «oh look here Angelo, the _playful activities_!»

«Crowley, stop it! Stop the movie!» he complained, terribly embarrassed, starting to move and turn his head around, looking for something with his eyes.

«Looking for this?» waved the remote control in the air, dodging a quick gesture of the angel, who fell forward.

«Oh damn demon, give it to me!»

«Try to catch him, if you dare!» he exclaimed amused, jumping on the couch, avoiding any _celestial attack_.

«CROWLEY!»

«Forget it angel, you don't scare me!» he smiled slyly, a moment before being overtaken with a very agile move by Aziraphale, who ended up overpowering him. At that point both the demon's smile and the angel's protestations disappeared, only to hear the sound of their breaths.

Even though they couldn't see each other, they both had grainy eyes, because of that embarrassing and compromising situation they'd gotten themselves into.

Crowley lost a heartbeat at that juncture, realizing that he had waited for that moment all his life; he couldn't miss such an opportunity, not now that his favorite angel's lips were inches away from his own.

She stretched her face towards him, touching her lips with his.

Now it could have been his.

1: It was the first book printed in America, in 1640. It contains all the psalms translated into English; it is currently the most expensive book ever sold in the world.

2: Obviously Gabriele D'Annunzio, poet of the 20th century known for his works and for his very eventful life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter too. I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Shimba


	6. Crowley's disappointment and Aziraphale's sadness - Of shocking surprises

**Crowley's disappointment and Aziraphale's sadness**

**Of shocking surprises**

They had stood still, as if time had stopped around them; Crowley in the half-light could see the angel's eyes, so expressive and lucid. _Now or never_ , he said to himself. He came closer, to the point of touching his lips with those he loved so much, closing his eyes, making himself closer.

«No Crowley, wait» he felt the angel's hand resting on his chest, pulling him away.

«Aziraphale because...» he was interrupted by the snapping of his fingers, which turned on the light, seeing where they were standing; both of them flashed, but Crowley was very confused.

«I can't, no» he got up, sat down, putting some distance between them, which seemed like miles to the demon.

«Angel?» he sat down and stared at him «what's going on?»

«You should go, Crowley»

That statement disorientated him, hurting him most of all «go? But it was you who jumped on me!»

«I made a mistake» he turned to him «I didn't want to create... _this_ _»_ he put his hand in the hedgehogs.

Crowley stiffened, tightening his jaw. Being rejected like that... he didn't deserve it.

«And what's your excuse this time? That I'm going too fast for you? That I tempted you with this ridiculous movie?» he said harshly.

«Crowley...» I sighed, being interrupted.

«No, shut up» he stood up, looking down on him «you're just a coward, a fucking coward, angel. You fuck someone else and be modest for a kiss, with me you've known for over 6 millennia!»

«I won't let you talk like that!» he stood up too, facing him «you can't judge me, I've only had him!» he got sad «you did... I don't even know how many!»

«And you're interested in this, right? The poor demure angel who wants to preserve his pure soul. I'll tell you one thing, angel, you have very little left of pure»

Aziraphale felt stabbed with those words and the look on his friend's face. Perhaps, in one of the few times in his entire life, he felt his anger mount, clouding his mind, extinguishing his patience and benevolent intentions.

«At least I still am» he came dangerously close to his face «and I'm still an angel, while you...»

«I'm a demon, is that what you mean, really?» to his silence continued «why can't we, fallen angels, feel anything, we're horrible beings, is that what you think?»

«Why shouldn't I? I've seen how _you behave_ ; use, throw, deface souls!»he didn't think that, but he didn't care at the time. He just wanted to hurt him, like he did.

Hit him in the pride, in the heart, for that excess of superficiality. Didn't you realize you'd called him an impure person? He who fought with all eternity not to give in to those feelings that were increasing day by day; he felt he was Don Quixote against the windmills: a battle lost.

When he re-emerged from his thoughts, he saw, for a second only, in his friend's iridescent coils, a veil of pain, making him shake. He realized he was despicable.

«Oh Crowley, I'm sorry...» was interrupted by a dry nod.

«Forget it. I really understood what you think of me» he put his glasses back on «I take the trouble off, before _disfiguring_ you too» he overcame it in great stride, slamming the bookcase door behind him, leaving a shocked and dumbfounded Aziraphale.

Crowley had run out, opened the Bentley and skidded away, leaving a deep tyre footprint on the tarmac.

_Stupid. You're just stupid,_ repeating yourself like a mantra in your mind, driving without looking back. But the dark glasses didn't cover the tears that came down from his face. _It was all fake all this time._ He had pushed his foot on the accelerator, bending dangerously with every overtaking, risking his skin every second. _My existence next to him was artifact, meaningless._ Quickly London had made way for the country lanes, bordered by a wooden fence at the sides; the whole landscape was endless cultivated plains, which with the sunset created a wonderful play of colours, but Crowley paid no attention to anything, blinded by pain. _All the times I risked my life for him... it was useless._

He had never felt so hurt, disappointed and bitter as he did at that moment. He felt it, he felt it, the heart bleeding; that dull and intense pain, that did not make you think, but that took your breath away, at every twinge, stylized.

He slowed down and stopped only when he arrived at the viewpoint, from where you could see the lights of the city that illuminated it.

He went down, tired, taking off his glasses and placing them on the hood of his little girl, advancing towards the railing, which he squeezed so tightly that he whitened his knuckles.

He couldn't believe it. It was absurd. Was that a nightmare? Aziraphale had spat that chilling truth in his face, with that angry, stern look on his face. _His angel..._ a single hiccup escaped from his lips, bowing his head, crying silently.

_He had lost him, if ever he had been his friend... he couldn't forgive him, not after using those words... defacing souls had never been an easy task for him, who had always tried to do as little harm as possible and he knew it. He had not devised the plan for the great highway roundabout to send as many souls to Hell as possible; to rage certainly did not lead to eternal damnation. So was blowing up the phone lines all over London. He_ _had committed_ _only minor damage,_ _only to please his superiors to a minimum, so as to remain on Earth with him. For him._

He looked up, up into the sky, his face contracted. Why did God want to give him that punishment too? Wasn't falling down enough? To have ripped off his wings, to have made him a servant of the Devil, with the movements of a snake, what he really was, was not already unbearable? No, he must have also had his heart ripped from his chest; that made him a good scapegoat.

He wept, as he had rarely done, stopping the sobs, pouring out all the suffering that only that white-faced, generous-hearted angel could bring him.

For whole minutes he stood there, staring at the door, motionless. What was coming out of his mouth? He didn't think it was even remotely like his companions in Hell, yet he had said it with so much malice. She knew she'd stabbed him, stabbed him to death, but he shouldn't talk about him like that. He was pure, he had given himself to one man, whom he loved, and yet he could not fully believe it either, for to be pure was not only to resist physically, but to prevent the mind from formulating all manner of impure thoughts, and he, during those six millennia, had made too many, especially towards him.

He turned to the television, with the movie on pause, snapping his fingers to make it all disappear. He sat on the sofa, distraught, with empty eyes and his hand over his mouth: it tasted like goodbye, or at least a departure for at least fifty years.

Crowley had been in the middle of nowhere for several hours, but then regained at least a little bit of control, putting on his glasses and driving again. He returned to London, juggling traffic and reaching his apartment. He entered upstairs and went to his room, taking his suitcase from the closet, which he filled in a short time. He didn't have many possessions, and although he didn't intend to take everything with him. In great stride he reached his studio, stopping for a moment. Those damn books! He had always hated reading, wasting time with those archaic and almost science fiction readings, but in the last period he felt the need to read something that would help him untangle the wave of emotions that he felt growing inside him. With a growl he packed them in his suitcase, then opened the drawers, blocking himself.  _He wouldn't carry those_ . He picked up those sheets of paper, leafing through them carefully: it had taken him a long time to make them perfect, but it was no use. With one click he left them scattered on the desk, coming out of the study. He snapped his fingers, miraculously miraculating the plants so that they would have regular water to survive; he held them in the background.

After that he turned off the light, loaded his suitcase and left the house. He needed a change of air.

_**Three weeks later...** _

Aziraphale was laying a stack of books on the counter, silent.

Since Crowley was gone, his life had gotten worse. He could no longer be kind and courteous to customers and seldom began to sell some priceless tomes for him. _But what was the point of keeping them if his life had become empty?_

He spent every day locked up in his shop, between one tea drink and another; he didn't go to the park anymore and the reasons were obvious. She had tried to call him but he immediately hung up the answering machine, a sign that his cell phone was disconnected.

Three weeks without a shred of news of his best friend, possibly ex.

He had cursed against himself every day, for having behaved like that, but he could not change the past; the damage was done and Crowley, well, dissolved.

The ringing of the phone made him jerk, rushing to pick up the phone «Yeah?»

«Hi Aziraphale, I'm Anathema»

A disappointed expression was painted on her face, and a sad smile made its end between her lips. The friendship between the witch and the angel had been going on for some time. Aziraphale had learned that she had become an elementary school teacher and had offered to help her with the supply of books for those children who couldn't afford it; so, they had started to feel each other more and more often and ended up getting to know each other; the angel told her about Crowley and their quarrel, actually about their whole story (because he was a big talker) and the witch turned out to be a real listener.

«Hi Anathema, how are you?»

«I'm fine, but you're getting sadder and sadder»

«It'll pass, dear, it'll pass»

«Crowley? He's been in touch?»

«No, no news» I sighed, sitting in the upholstered wooden chair.

«I'm sure he'll be back»

«Yeah... well I wouldn't really hope so»

«Don't be pessimistic, you can't stay away, you're like the sun and the moon, one doesn't exist without the other»

«Darling, you make us sound like lovers»

«Why, aren't you?» I could almost hear her smile.

«No dear, what are you thinking» he blushed «we are... or rather, we were friends...»

«I'm sure you still will be, when that hothead decides to come back to you»

And he hoped in those words, perhaps said in a superficial way, but it was precisely those words that kept that flame of hope that dwelt in him, difficult to extinguish altogether.

«Let's hope so, dear»

«I'm sure of it. Look, Azi, about a month ago, Crowley asked me to borrow some books, you know, _details_. I never got them back»

«What kind of books?»

«Philosophy; stuff like Nitzesche, Baudelaire... I could use»

That's who those books belonged to! You knew they couldn't have been the demon's, weren't they... _his kind?_

«Yes, of course... I saw them at his house, in his study, but over a month and a half ago»

«Would you please look for them? I don't want to buy them back»

«But.. he's not home, would that mean going in without his permission» again? This time if he caught him he'd kill him, he was sure of it.

«Come on Azi, with your powers you can get in and out in a few minutes» the witch reassured him.

And so, after half an hour and a good dose of courage, Aziraphale had set off, to settle that _little favour_ his friend had asked. In the end, it was a small thing, wasn't it? In relation to the fact that his great-great-aunt had saved them from the Apocalypse and helped them with that tip on the exchange of bodies, well, she owed him.

It didn't take long to find himself in front of his apartment. With his trembling hand he opened the front door, recognizing the smell of being closed. He closed the door behind him, being shaken by a deep melancholy. He missed him so much...

He walked through the living room, noticing how everything had stood still, witness the dust on the table and on the floor. His plants were lush, however, a sign that they were regularly cared for. He didn't think it was done manually, more by a miracle. He caressed the green leaves slowly, sighing. He had always known that after all, he had to care for those _plants that were never in their place._

He continued his "inspection", going to his room; there his smell hit him in full, like a slap in the face, forcing him to lean on the dresser, intoxicated.

Crowley, surprisingly, smelled sweet, but with a bitter tinge. He would have recognized that smell among a thousand if he had to. The wardrobe doors were off, sensing his gestures: he'd quickly grabbed some clothes, without even paying attention. The sheets of the bed were partially creased, perhaps because he had put down a duffel bag. A suitcase perhaps? Nothing else was out of place.

He came out of there, with a smile.

He left out the bathroom and the kitchen, stopping in front of the studio door, undecided. Last time he'd made a mess, but now it was much worse.

_Oh, the hell with it!_ He thought, lowering the handle, he found it open this time.

The first that immediately caught the eye was the absence of Anathema's books, that time resting above the desk. They're not there, so can I go? _No Aziraphale, peek as usual! There_ , that was Crowley's voice in his mind.

What did he choose? Of course you know.

He took a few steps on the way in. Everything seemed untouched, except the presence of about 20 papers scattered across the desk. He sharpened his eyesight, intrigued. What he saw made his eyes gleam. He rushed to zero, taking them in his hand. It wasn't possible, it was... absurd! He sat down in the chair, with his hand free in front of his mouth, which he took off just to leaf through each sheet, more and more upset.

_Goddamn Crowley, you're an asshole! But I love you for it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it's a little sad.  
> Shimba


	7. Crowley's remoteness and Aziraphale's determination

**Crowley's remoteness and Aziraphale's determination**

«Hey, gorgeous, the usual?»

Crowley nodded, waiting for his drink.

It had now been several weeks since he had decided to take a break and get away from it all. Miami seemed the right destination for him: warm, welcoming, always hectic, and he really needed that, not to think.

He had left with his duffel bag, preferring the plane to the usual snap to materialize directly there; he felt he cared more about those human gestures than he was willing to admit: buying the ticket, waiting for his flight and then being above the clouds... they were actions that he could do even alone, spreading his wings, but he soon realized that they were activities that he did not like to do alone, but in _company and in the_ end he had given up.

«Here's your Bloody Mary» he heard from Ramón, the barman of that nightclub he used to go to every night since he arrived.

As he picked up his cocktail, he saw a shot in front of him «and this?» He raised an eyebrow.

«It's on the house» Ramón winked « _the circle of the damned»_

Crowley rolled his eyes «excuse me?»

«The shot» laughed «that's his name»

The demon looked at him, took him between his fingers. What a mocking name... he swallowed it in one gulp, coughing just «fuck, this shit is strong!»

Aziraphale needed a moment to recover. Was that Crowley's unmentionable secret? He had to catch his breath for a few minutes, confused and shaken.

All those drawings had only one subject: him.

Those precise, light, smudge-free features that represented him at any time of the day: while he was reading, smiling or... sleeping. He was struck by the thought that the demon had infiltrated his house like a thief, spying on him. _Why, what are you doing, angel?_ That voice again!

He touched them with his fingers, bewitched them with such talent. When did Crowley start drawing? He had a real talent for it.

A deep sense of guilt beat him. If he had done all that for him perhaps... that new awareness mixed with hope made him jump to his feet, reinvigorated, arranging those papers and holding them gently in his hands.

Now was the time to react.

Crowley reached his room, closing the door behind him. That studio apartment was now his home: minimal furniture and a few anonymous paintings; the only distinctive feature was the large bed with red sheets that made the room a little warmer, despite the walls already being a dull orange.

He threw himself dead weight between the soft sheets, breathing in the smell of detergent. It was 4:00 in the morning and he had done afterwards, like every night. And like every night, dozens of people, both men and women, went after him drooling like so many lions looking for fresh meat. He sighed, taking off his glasses, useless for the darkness that reigned in the room. He had tried to let himself go with someone, but every time he approached, he thought of that angel as a jerk, ending up looking like an idiot, running away like a little boy; he snapped his fingers to change, closing his eyes. A little rest wouldn't hurt him.

«Come on, let's go. Pick up.»

That damn voicemail again. He was almost hating his voice, always repeating the same thing. In over 30 years he had never changed it, confirming his idea of how megalomaniac, egocentric and narcissistic he was.

Crowley was an unusual demon. Ruthless sense of humor and highly ironic, he knew how to hit the right spot to bring down his interlocutor, whether out of embarrassment or shame, sometimes out of anger or irritation, but he had never seen him really hurt anyone, in the true sense of the word. He had always kept away from the drastic ideas of his colleagues, even when Beelzebub himself asked him to. He had seen his disappointment and dismay when God gave the order to build the Ark to Noah, causing the whole population, many innocent people, including children, to die. The proof that his wings had changed, but inside him remained a shade of the angel he had been, even if for a short time.

How could those words loaded with lies have come out of his mouth? He was an angel. He shouldn't have even thought of them. Only then did he really realize how much he had changed too, in those millennia. He'd learned to lie, to himself, to Crowley. His existence had revolved for millennia around the great _Ineffable Plan_ , but in time he realized that without that annoying and difficult to accept companion at first, he would never have made it. Not only because it had saved his life several times, because of his naivety; but especially because it had become his _light_. Ironic, life, sometimes. An angel who said for himself is a bearer of light, he found his peace and protection in a demon, inhabitant of Hell by his own choice.

He had to find him. He was tired of running.

The rays of the sun filtering through the light curtains caressed his face, leading him to mumble. He loved the sun, he was a reptile at heart, but when he slept he preferred total darkness.

He squeezed the sheets between his fingers, carrying them over his forehead, mumbling. Why couldn't it just rain?

_Because Miami is the city where the sun shines all year round, man!_ He remembered Ramón's words, spoken weeks before, when he arrived.

He had already been to that chaotic city full of tourists, but in 1960. He remembered it very differently, with less smog and surfboards, but with the same music at every corner of the streets, crowded with smiling kids with the desire to socialize, maybe to find some drinking friends or just to have fun one afternoon with a ball.

He had travelled all over the city, with those electric bicycles that were rented out, regretting his little girl who had been stationary for too long now. _When I get back, I'll make you run baby, like never before._

But did he really want to come back?

He puffed again, interrupting his thoughts, which were already too heavy in the early morning. He squinted his eyes, watching the alarm clock. Forget the morning, it was 4:00 in the afternoon! He had slept for 12 hours straight, without interruption. He didn't remember when the last time he had let himself go so much to sleep, to that human habit... maybe it was the 1600s? Boring period, if not for some revolution or guerrilla warfare, the usual. Maybe the only thing that caught his attention was Galileo's stubbornness in stating his theories that science and mathematics went hand in hand... all for a couple of stars, pff! He, who had invented them **1**.

He might have suggested a few little ideas to that astronomer, just out of curiosity to see how the world would look at that reality.

He had slept about 50 years, waking up at the end of that century.

He decided to get up at the end, still asleep in the bathroom, to rinse his face. Once he arrived, he looked up at the mirror in the sink. He looked horrible; his face was washed out and two big purple dark circles under his eyes were the end of the line. Was he thinner than he already was? He could not say exactly, but he thought of a human saying, which could not be more correct: _when the soul suffers, the body pays._

Damn it. He'd never been like that before, not even when a death sentence was hanging over his head, _and a tank of holy water._

Aziraphale walked around the bookstore, inspecting all the books that might seem useful to him, puffing with frustration. Nothing, nothing at all!

He had read heavenly, esoteric, even demonic books to try to find a solution. Anathema couldn't give him any help, his hands were more tied than he was. It was _too much higher business than she was_.

He didn't blame him. He didn't know how to help himself. _Think Aziraphale, think, you can only count on your own strength and nobody else's. How can you track him down?_

He remained whole minutes resting at the counter, with his hands on the table, concentrated on finding a quick solution to that big problem that weighed like a boulder in his heart.

_And if maybe..._ he gouged his eyes out, caught in the light. He leapt forward, feeling the cogs of his own brain working at a tight pace.

_If he tried... no, he wasn't sure it would work._

_But he could have... but Gabriel could have seen it._

_Gabriel, Gabriel, and Gabriel again. That Archangel had conditioned his whole existence, he would not have manipulated his will that time. To hell with that little fella!_

«Please Lord... help me...» he murmured, closing his eyes; he joined his fingers in prayer.

Crowley had put on his usual dark outfit, except for a gold necklace he wore around his neck; a souvenir bought at one of the many stalls along the seafront.

He reached out his hand to the pillow with the intent to fix it, locking himself in a snap. _Someone was calling him._

He felt a strong warmth near his ear, which was not painful, on the contrary; it was pleasant. He ran to the bathroom, looking away. By all the demons of Hell, in his tattoo he shone a bright white!

She grazed him, captivated by that color so rare in him. _Aziraphale was calling him_. _He had violated the rules of Heaven_ : angels could not invoke demons, no matter what. They could be severely punished, but _his_ angel had done it anyway, just for him. For him, really? His wounded heart tried to hold him back, but his pride in love cried out for him. He turned off the light in the bathroom, heading in great stride toward the bedroom, where he collected the little of his belongings. He watched the room one last time, snapping his fingers.

Aziraphale had invoked Crowley, with his power. If they'd discovered him, they would no doubt have stripped him of his wings and plunged him into the Underworld. He shouldn't have done it, yet he couldn't repent of his act. He had followed his instinct for once, allowing him to commit that first transgression. _Actually, it was the second, if you count the aquasalt thermos in 1960. But no one had noticed anything there._

Now the matter was more complicated and as if that weren't enough, the demon gave no sign of having received the message. Had his power weakened or had he simply ignored it? He had no idea. In that mood he decided to take a walk, to calm his nerves. Such a nervous angel had never been seen before.

He couldn't even make it to St. James Park, out of frustration. He hadn't been there since the fight, because the image of his wounded eyes constantly came back to him.

No, it couldn't end like this... he had to find a way! He turned around, retracing his own steps, towards the bookstore. The clear morning sky had given way to heavy clouds full of rain, which had decided to play a nasty trick on him, starting to rain, but he didn't care. Even with his face and wet clothes he didn't slow down a step, not even to miracle an umbrella. His waistcoat was clutching and his shirt had stuck to his chest, annoying him. He trained his bow tie, walking fast on the London sidewalk, among boys running under the sleepers to protect themselves from the rain and adults continuing their walk, with an umbrella in hand.

He envied them, all of them. They only had one life, but they could grow up, have friends, fall in love. Grow old, maybe complaining about the house always in disarray for their grandchildren, but proud of the life they had created for themselves.

No rules to follow, no fear of perishing just for loving.

They were free, from that point of view, much more than him, who was eternal and constantly unhappy.

Arriving in front of the bookcase he stopped, barring his eyes for surprise, or shock.

«Hello Aziraphale»

Crowley was standing there in front of him, as wet as he was and in the same mood as him. The long reddish hair was stuck to his face, as his clothes had become tighter, making his skinny body stand out even more.

«Crowley» he said in a whisper, getting a little closer. Now they were three feet away «then you heard me»

«How could I not? This thing lit up wide open!» pointed to the tattoo.

The angel couldn't believe it. He really did it. God... he listened to him, no matter how wrong that choice was.

«I've been looking for you for weeks»

«I took a vacation»

«But why didn't you keep your phone on?» now his voice was more serious.

«Because I obviously didn't want to be disturbed»

«You're a bastard, Crowley»

The demon gouged out his eyes, took off his wet glasses «how did you say, angel?»

«You heard right» shortened the distance, allowing you to point the finger at him, tapping on his chest «you're a bloody bastard, demon! Do you have any idea the despair you made me fall into?» your tone of voice was angry, really.

Crowley admitted that he'd rarely seen him like that. Aziraphale had always managed to maintain that calm tone that distinguished him, putting aside irritation and nervousness and returning to his usual calm, smiling angel.

And instead that moment he saw an angel who knew very little. His face pulled and contracted, his blue eyes darkened by anger and his aura that transmitted a strong tension.

The demon ended up smiling, but bitterly «Do you have the guts to tell me about the discouragement, really angel? Or should I say _demon_?» he saw the angel freeze, slowly lowering his finger «I don't recognize you anymore. And if I would have joked about it before now... I can't, because you don't even notice that the words you say weigh like boulders for me. I could have overlooked the fact that you rejected me, but the rest?» came close to your face, a few inches away «I'm not evil and I never will be. I'm a billion things, but I saved your ass, along with the world, for Satan!» Those blue eyes looked at him, wide open, in a storm; the gray-blue had given way to a tornado of emotions, easily readable for Crowley «and you hurt me, deeply. I should have gone away and never come back, but instead I ran after you like a dog at the first call» for a moment he closed his eyes «you know what it means to me to be so close to you and not even...» to _touch you._ I sighed, I took my hair off my face «forget it, it's a waste of time. I'm going home» he took a step back, turned his back.

Aziraphale had been silent the whole time, more because of the shock of those words than the closeness to him. _He wasn't a demon, and he wasn't even acting like one._ He acted out of fear, pushing him away as wrong as he could, that's all. _Are you sure that's all it is, Aziraphale?_ He might have reacted differently, but he wanted to hurt him willingly. _He'd changed._

But his thoughts were interrupted by Crowley, who had strayed. _He felt terribly cold now._

His senses ignited, making him snap forward, stretching his arm to squeeze his wrist «you're not going anywhere» he could hardly recognize his voice, so low and hoarse.

He saw him turn around slowly, surprised by that gesture «Aziraphale, I'm going where I'm going...»

«Shut up for once» he interrupted him, pulling him to herself; he made their lips collide in a rough, passionate kiss. The demon moaned by surprise, feeling the angel clinging to him, almost with need, as they deepened that contact.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, opening the lock of the bookcase, bringing with him a demon shocked by that impulsive and impetuous gesture. Both were soaking wet and small, but numerous drops ended up on the ancient floor of that place.

They broke off just to catch their breath, staying close, breathing each other's air.

«Aziraphale...»

«Shh» he shut him up, putting a finger on his lips «I made a big mistake and I apologize Crowley. I was despicable, but I never really thought those words» he caressed his red hair «I hope you can forgive me... and if not I'm ready to for the rest of my life»

There, you said it. _The rest of my existence_ was a relatively long time, but he was convinced and determined to do it, just for him, just for his demon.

«Crowley? Can you please say something?» after his words, there was no sound except for the storm raging outside. His reptilian pupils were dilated and his breath was short, proof even of his chest moving fast.

At which point Aziraphale thought he was shocked, or worse, traumatized.

«Crowley...?»

That question, blown like that, helped him to come to his senses, pushing himself towards him, resuming that kiss, suffocating a groan of appreciation from his partner. She pushed him towards the counter, without detaching herself, clutching the back of his neck towards herself, feeling him drowning; the angel grabbed the light surface, bumping into a stack of books that fell ruinously to the ground.

_He would take what he wanted: his body, his heart. And that time, even the wrath of God wouldn't stop him._

_**1 :** I support the theory that Crowley as an angel was Rafael, the one who invented the stars and the galaxy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody, thanks for reading this chapter.  
> Shimba


	8. Of Crowley's art and Aziraphale's love - Of promises kept

**Of Crowley's art and Aziraphale's love...**

**Of promises kept**

How they got into the room so quickly, neither of us knew.

With a pop maybe? Or with a movement as agile as Crowley's instinctive?

Little mattered, however, to both of them, too intent on clinging to each other, with their mouths greedy to feel, almost devouring themselves, as if they had to make up all the lost time.

Aziraphale had tried to keep up with his beloved, but without much success: the demon seemed to have entered a spiral of passion and lust, unable to hold back.

«Crowley...» he gasped for breath, taking his breath away from his lips. He looked up and felt his head swirl: Crowley was an enchantment. The reddened face, the golden irises hidden by his black pupils, so deep that they could sink into it, the now damp hair that was more swollen, disheveled, falling disheveled on his shoulders.

He would have wanted to capture that moment, just as he had done not all those drawings. _Those drawings._ He definitely had to talk to her about them, and he wanted explanations! But... when he felt his beloved's hand resting on his chest, he decided that he would think about it later.

The angel slowly saw herself deprived of him tartàn jacket and waistcoat, ending up badly on the floor.

«Crowley! They're delicate bosses!» he complained, red in the face, with shiny eyes.

«To hell with angel, that's not what I'm interested in at the moment» he caught his eye, pushed him towards the bed, sat him down.

«And what... do you care?» _What a stupid question, Aziraphale,_ his inner Crowley mocked him, but he needed to hear it.

The demon stopped, sweetening his face, caressing his reddened cheekbone «you, angel. I'm only interested in you» he pushed himself forward, kissing it ardently again, making it stretch out, to overpower it «I knew it would end up under you, in the end it was obvious it was you»

The angel, who up to that moment had let himself go into a torpor, opened his eyes, stopping him with one hand on his chest «obvious?» he asked, reading the confusion in his partner's eyes.

«Yes, of course, I have... more experience than you» he said obviously, as if he hadn't said anything wrong.

«Oh Crowley» pulled him upstairs, reversing his positions; now it was the demon lying on the mattress, looking at him surprised, with his arms outstretched «but I can start doing it with you» he brought his trembling hands to the buttonholes of his dark shirt, beginning to unbutton it. Having him finally there, in his bed, had made him realize that he couldn't just _suffer_ , it wouldn't be polite, would it? After several attempts he finally managed to get rid of that head, touching his naked and toned chest; he was positively surprised when he felt it tremble under his touches, leading him to feel a strange satisfaction in seeing him so much, for the attention he was giving him «dear... I must make it up to you» he bent down to kiss his neck, carefully and carefully, touching his jugular «for my behaviour and... for not having understood what you felt...»

«Angel...» his voice was trembling and hoarse, reduced to a whisper «there's no need to...»

«Let me finish, I beg you» he caressed him, coming down on his chest «I ask your forgiveness... I was shallow and heartless... I realized what I had done when I saw that look in your eyes and now it was too late to make up for it...» he grazed his nipples with his nose, feeling them stiffen «I looked for you for weeks, I thought so much about a way to get you back, I asked Anathema for help too...»

«Ana... thema?» he sighed, stiff, with what little lucidity he had left.

Aziraphale nodded, going up to her face, slowly unbuttoning her white shirt «if it wasn't for her I wouldn't have found your drawings» folded it, carefully, resting it on the edge of the bed «they are really surprising and... wonderful»it blushed, noticing that both of them were now only a few layers left on; but she didn't feel uncomfortable, quite the opposite: she wanted it to happen, with every fiber of her body.

«How did you find them?» he asked for red, brushing his soft chest, clinging to his hips.

«Hmm?» the blond blond blushed, letting himself be pierced by that liquid, but inquisitive look «did you go back into my house?»

«No» he denied, perhaps too vigorously «I...»

«Liar» he mumbled, sighing immediately afterwards« but I think I could make an exception this time if... I could find a way to make it up to you» his hands were busy with the belt on his pants, finally making the angel shut up, and ended up helping him.

In a short time they remained naked, in silence, admiring each other, listening to their more accelerated breaths, with the ever-increasing desire to take each other, to join for the first time after a long wait of 6000 years.

And when they finally got together, they realized they didn't want to be anywhere but there, squeezed in each other's arms, moving in unison to the rhythm of the thrusts, filling the room with their sighs that soon became moans, because their relationship had never been linear, between squabbles, quarrels, hesitations when things started to change. _You run too fast for me_ , it no longer existed, it had become. _Now I run with you, wherever you want._

First one to open his eyes was Crowley. They had fallen asleep for several hours after they had loved each other, as witnessed by the setting sun. Man, they _really did love each other._ He still couldn't believe it, like he was having a dream he didn't want to wake up from. And yet Aziraphale was there, face down in the pillow, back uncovered, waist down. He had been dismayed when the angel had taken over, forcing him gently to open up for him, binding himself to his heart, as well as to his body. In a short time the sweetness had given way to passion, overwhelming them like a flooding river, leaving them sore but extremely satisfied. At the thought she blushed, like a little girl with her first boyfriend. For Satan! He was a respected demon, he had had dozens of lovers, of all kinds! _Yes, but none were his angel._

He sighed, caressing his rounded curves with his eyes, feeling his hands tingling. He loved all that softness that he could hold in his hands, even though the angel was always complaining about how out of shape he was, because of his gluttony (and their appointments at the Ritz), and yet he couldn't help but find all that adorable _goodness._

He reached out his hand, caressing his soft curls, barely waking him.

Aziraphale smiled, still with his eyes closed« Crowley...»

«Angel... how do you feel?»

«Well» he blew lightly, sensing his doubts« I know what you're thinking... mh...» he just stretched out, opening his eyes a little, showing his blue irises, shining back« if it was a dream we'd notice, wouldn't we?»

The demon nodded, caressing him, bewitched by all that beauty.

«What are you thinking about?» he picked it up from his thoughts, looking at it curiously.

Tell the truth or an omitted truth? He sighed, opting for the first option« to you» he barely smiled« to how surreal this all seems to me»

He saw him smile back, standing up on his elbows «it's surreal that it took us so long...»

«And it's only thanks to a book that we ended up in this situation»

«Yeah »

«Yeah»

After a second of hesitation, the demon approached the angel, giving him a kiss on the lips that gave both of them goosebumps. It was not necessary a deep kiss to make them tremble, just a light one, a simple touch to rekindle their senses.

«Crowley...» the blond man walked away, looking him in the eye «draw me»

The red glowed in his eyes; did he hear right? Did you just tell him to draw it on a board? Hiding it from him, in the dark, portraying even the smallest details was one thing, but doing it with him in front of him, looking at him... «what?»

«In short... you are so good and even though you have portrayed me many times... I would like you to do it now...» he had to summon all his courage to ask that question, but the time of embarrassment was over, he had to come forward and ask for what he wanted. When he had seen the contents of those sheets of paper he had had a lack of it, and the angels did not have these kinds of human problems, by God! Yet he was forced to sit down, because his legs had begun to tremble blatantly. To be the main subject of his art was... amazing, as well as out of the ordinary; a demon portraying an angel, even while he was sleeping.

«I've never drawn in front of someone, of presence» he admitted, a little uncomfortable, carrying his hair backwards. Only once had he been commissioned to draw a sketch of a woman-dea during a summer storm, immersed in the greenery of nature. Gabriel had been very precise about that painting, apparently it was for one of his works **1** and everything had to match in detail.

«You can start now, if you want»

The demon seemed to think it over, even though he had already decided in his heart. He snapped his fingers, materializing a tablet including paper and a pencil.

«Lying down» he sat on the soft sheets, naked, legs crossed, waiting.

Aziraphale did as required, resting on his side, while his right elbow pressed against the pillow to support his face; the sheet covering him from the waist down had slipped dangerously, giving a glimpse of the clear pubic hair «is that all right?»

Crowley had to look down, or else he wouldn't have been able to control himself «you're perfect» he cleared his throat.

He began to draw slight guidelines, and then began to define the contours of his body, recreating his own curves. Retracting someone of presence was an extremely intimate thing, or so he thought. The higher she looked at him, the more her desire grew, but she wanted to draw his angelic face, which had a particular, very intense light in him eyes.

On the other hand, Aziraphale felt pleasantly exposed to him at the time.

It was not easy to keep that position still, if his eyes looked at him like that, carefully, to see every little detail, like the slight wrinkles on his face or the shadow of the sheet. It turned out to love that side of him so precise, so attentive. He had always been a demon full of surprises, you never got bored with him, because he always ended up revealing a side of himself hidden from the world.

There had been the period of the practice of the sword, around 1600, exalted by those wars for territorial and religious power **2** , which lasted less than a millennium, since he had given himself to heroism to save him during the French Revolution; in 1800 he had only taken the habit of revealing brilliant ideas, like that guy, Ford, who had taken the leap. In 1900 there had been an exploit, between English and Italian writers, rock and roll, Queen and technology. The only passion he had left was for his car and... and, apparently, art.

Yet at that moment he thought Crowley was still a mystery yet to be discovered. He heard the sound of the pencil on the paper, dictated by his fast, sure fingers, and understood that he had missed many moments with him, even though they had known each other for 6 millennia and had lived in the same city for the last 2 centuries, sharing missions, pastimes and free time.

Silence reigned supreme for about ten minutes, suddenly «I finished» he held the table close to his body, not revealing its contents.

Aziraphale approached, slipping the sheet, revealing his body «can I see?» he asked softly, a little intimidated, receiving a nod as consent. When he turned the board, he was struck in one fell swoop: he had drawn exactly that scene, but all the details inside him portrayed him as a pleasing, glorious man, with an extremely deep gaze «C-Crowley, dear, but I'm not like that»

Crowley caressed his cheekbone, gentle «you are exactly as I represented you, angel» he put his hand in his hair «demure, genuine... so pure that I lost control» he took the table in his hands, placed it in the bedside table next to the bed «and now I want to make love to you» he made him lie down, overlying him.

For once Aziraphale said nothing, chaining his eyes to his own, powerless, stripped of every wall he had erected for centuries, hidden behind his gentle smile.

Crowley's hands explored him wisely, going up and down only to make him sigh, responding to his stimuli.

She arched when she felt her lips close around her nipple, squeezing the sheet between her hands, wrinkling it. There was nothing but Crowley's fiery mouth on his skin, which was lapping every possible space, leaving a wet trail that gave him the chills.

He could not refrain from moaning when that same mischievous mouth came to the center of his pleasure, making him bow and smile at the demon.

It was gonna be a long night.

Anathema looked at the clock, impatient. Where the hell had Aziraphale gone? After that frantic phone call, he hadn't heard from her since. He'd been looking for him for hours, but even the phone seemed to be off. That he'd gotten into trouble?

She had supported him during those three weeks, listening to his endless monologues and melancholy memories, which he told with a sad smile on his lips.

_"He's always been with me, for better or for worse, even though he didn't accept my choices. I saw him fall that day, you know?" he once_ said to him, _"And there was nothing I could do to stop it. I promised myself I would never let him feel that evil again, but I was the cause of his pain," he_ told him on a sunny day in Tiedfield. She had invited him on purpose to speak, feeling him with his morale on the ground. Her heart was broken at that whispered confession, her eyes blank and her face gloomy, as the tea cooled inexorably, without being drunk.

If she had previously had any doubts about their feelings, those words gave her absolute confirmation: Aziraphale loved Crowley, just as Crowley loved Aziraphale.

He really hoped that things would settle down, that they would make peace and build a stronger relationship than before, maybe with something different, he hoped.

She was in London visiting Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell. It had been an interesting meeting. They'd had tea and she kindly declined the invitation to show her nipples.

Newton had warned her about that strange mania of that man, also because she was a witch, but she had a very normal body, she didn't look like an alien!

All the time she spent in their company she had tried to track down the angel, getting more and more worried, ending up taking a taxi to the library after leaving the apartment of that strange but nice couple. When she got out and knocked she had a strange feeling, as if she was disturbing; yet there was no customer and the sign “Closed” was clearly visible from the outside.

He was about to knock again, when he gouged his eyes out behind his rounded frame, half-clenching his lips.

The blue and orange auras of Aziraphale and Crowley chased each other around the bookstore, exchanging tender kisses and hugs, happy to be together.

At that moment the witch realized that the angel had succeeded, she had found him.

And now she'd never leave him.

**1 :** the work I mean is "La pioggia nel Pineto" by Gabriele D'Annunzio and the woman goddess is Hermione, as well as Eleonora Duse, the one he fell in love with.

** 2** **:** The Thirty Years' War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody, thanks for reading the chapter.  
> We're coming to the end.  
> Shimba


	9. About Crowley's name and Aziraphale's love - Of unscheduled outputs

**About Crowley's name and Aziraphale's love**

**Of unscheduled outputs**

«So that's how it happened?»

«Exactly, my dear»

«Your words sound like something out of a novel, you're very confident»

«Oh no, the reality is much better than a novel» said Aziraphale, sipping tea in his favorite cup.

A few days had passed since that fateful day and many things had changed; like the fact that his bedroom had become _theirs_ and that the demon loved to tempt him to stay in that warm and welcoming bed instead of getting up to open the bookcase.

_You never sold anything, it would be another useless day!_

He had reminded him several times, but the angel had surprised him when he admitted that some tome had given him away during his absence. Crowley had taken the trouble to tell him that he could get them back by making perfect copies even in the eyes of an expert, but the angel was fine with that. He understood that books were not everything in his existence unless there was someone to share them with. Which was a big word, sharing. She had discovered to her surprise that Crowley read, especially philosophy and psychology.

_They're interesting, not as boring as the books you read!_

Of course they weren't bored! They were made to dig into the human mind and its deepest thoughts! The books he preferred were almost always love stories, where the knight saved his lady and love reigned. What was wrong with that? Surely he found them more interesting than Nietzsche or Freud. The latter had also had the chance to meet him, by a coincidence - or fatality - while he was in Vienna to resolve some differences between kingdoms and had had an _interesting_ conversation, which ended with a nasty squabble.

Studying drugs, what nonsense! Not to mention the other, like studies on sexuality, which had forced him to end the conversation and fly the white flag, too embarrassed to continue talking about it.

«I knew you two would make up»

Aziraphale smiled, finishing his drink. Her friend believed it more than he did, urging him not to let go in his search, keeping a faint light of hope burning. He owed it all to her, a human with a big heart.

«It was unexpected for both of us»

«Not for me, my dear angel» he just laughed, wearing his long dark hair back, looking at him amused «and so your auras... are united»

The blond man smiled, then changed his eyes strangely «united? Did you see them?»

The witch said nothing, but her gaze was quite comprehensive.

«Oh»

«Yeah»

The angel blushed, caught in the foul. Besides, it was better that she had seen them and not someone else, like Sergeant Shadwell.

«Hey, angel!» Crowley walked into the bookcase, opened the door wide. He didn't need keys or other useless objects, he just snapped his fingers and the whole world fell at his feet.

Anathema and Aziraphale turned around, one with a fir-like smile and the other with a raised eyebrow accompanied by a little smile.

«Oh Crowley dear!» he stood up, smoothed his fancy pants, going towards him. By now their greeting was the classic kiss on the lips, like any normal couple, but at that moment Aziraphale was in trouble.

_He was not used to exchanging such effusions with an audience in front of him, even though she was a dear friend of his._

Crowley saw him approaching and stopping within inches of him, hesitant, which led him to raise an eyebrow «really, angel?» he turned towards Anathema «you don't mind if I say goodbye to my boy, do you?»

«Absolutely, go ahead» she urged him, still sitting.

«That's perfect. Idiot of an angel» took him by the collar, making their lips collide.

Aziraphale ended up resting his hands on his chest, so as not to lose his balance, letting himself be overwhelmed by that impetuous as well as passionate kiss; it didn't take long to dissolve it completely, leading him to reciprocate with the same intensity, even if with more sweetness.

They were left for seconds, forgetting about Anathema and everything else.

They were interrupted by a slight embarrassed cough «I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think it's time to go» she got up, smoothing her blue skirt with floral patterns.

«Hmm? Ah yes of course, thank you dear for coming by, we should do it more often» the angel seemed to return to the world of the living, approaching the coat hanger to help her put on her raincoat «come back whenever you want»

«I will, thank you Aziraphale. Hello Crowley» said hello to him, smiling just as he walked out of the library.

The demon waved at her with a nod, then pulled the angel towards him «so where were we?»

Aziraphale blushed, wrapping his neck with his arms «Crowley dear... you were waving at me...»

The demon smiled, taking off his glasses and squeezing his hips «right, and I'm _very_ glad to see you» gathered their lips together, in a sweeter kiss but soon ended up warming up.

And in the end the angel had understood that by now they no longer respected the rhythms.

«Crowley?»

«Hmm?»

«Can I ask you a question?»

The demon looked up from his pillow, chained to his «Shoot»

The blond man turned to him and covered himself to the waist with a sheet «everyone knows you as Anthony J. Crowley»

«Yeah, so?» he didn't understand where he was going.

«I was wondering... what's that J stand for?» his cheeks blushed slightly, but he maintained eye contact.

Crowley gouged his eyes out, taken by surprise. No one had ever asked him that question, not even his angel, even when he had the chance.

«It's not at all, it's put there by accident»

«Liar» he replied it nicely «I know it stands for something, you never do anything without a reason»

The red moved on the mattress, uncomfortable «Why do you care so much?»

«Because I'd also like to know this mystery of my partner, if you don't mind»

And Crowley broke up, even before he finished that sentence, because with those big innocent eyes looking at him like that he couldn't resist. And even after making love for the umpteenth time, he still saw his angel as a pure and chaste being, because his heart had remained the same since their first meeting.

He sighed, resting his back on the bed and looking at the ceiling «James. That J stands for James»

He tried to ignore Aziraphale's astonished gaze, who didn't utter a word. If he hadn't heard his breath, he might have assumed that he had made him a statue of salt, only in shock.

«James...? But it's...»

«Jewish, yes»

«Y-yes, but... that means...»

«I know what you mean, angel»

«And... why did you choose it?»

Crowley breathed noisily, barely annoying himself «does it bother you so much that a fallen angel wanted to choose a Jewish name?»

«Oh no, of course not. I'm just wondering why you chose one of the few that means anything to God»

James meant " _he who becomes the first, whom God has protected_." It was a weird name if you thought Crowley was a demon, so... _so he must have chosen it for a reason._

«Darling, can you tell me why?» he gently laid his fingers on her angular face, making her turn towards him «I would never judge you»

A heavy silence fell for a few minutes, interrupted only by their more or less regular breaths. Their eyes looked at each other, scrutinizing each other; one tried to reassure him, the other tried to reassure himself.

«Before I fell... I was a very important angel» he began «not on the same level as Gabriel & Co, even though he had asked _me to._ Let's say a middle way between an archangel and a cherubim» his gaze became sad «Rafael... that was my name» he saw his partner's look become sad and his eyes became shiny «I created stars, you know? Do you remember Alpha Centauri? It's one of the few stars I still have left» I sighed «anyway... I chose James because I liked the combination, even though I'm not worthy anymore»

«Oh Crowley...» heard his voice tremble, reaching out to his face to caress him «I knew nothing of this»

Crowley nodded «I know, because I've never mentioned it to anyone. You're _the one and only one_ who knows. Guard it»

This time it was the angel's turn to nod, getting closer again and cancelling the distances, to give him a kiss as intense as it was enveloping.

_I'll never reveal your secret. It's ours now._

«Will you dance with me?»

Her serpentine eyes snapped open a few inches from her face. His still shiny blue eyes looked at him with expectation, caressing every part of his face «but I can't dance»

«It's easy, I'll teach you, shall I?» The moment the demon nodded, he made him sit down, snapping his fingers, making both of them wear boxer shorts, one black with serpentine fantasies, the other white, very simple.

Aziraphale took him by the hand, getting him off the bed, standing in the middle of the room. He smiled, guiding his hands to his hips, wrapping his neck gently «Now let go...»

«But there's no music»

«It is not necessary, try to reproduce it with this» he placed his hand on his heart, feeling its accelerated rhythm. Shortly afterwards they began to swing, resting their foreheads against each other, with their eyes closed.

And that time it was Crowley who noticed that their rhythm was running, then stopped abruptly, and then started off again mildly. In 6 millennia they had both grown up, learning to understand each other, even making mistakes.

They grew stronger, ending in an embrace that smelled of home and love and... family.

Theirs, the one they had created with their bond. Whether or not they were immortal didn't matter. They would always be together until the end.

It was late afternoon and the sun at dusk created a very intense play of colours, recreating a cosy atmosphere despite the residual cold at the end of April. Crowley had surprised Aziraphale, asking him if he wanted to go out.

_I owe you from our last dinner at the Ritz._

And so, after an hour spent getting ready, they came out of the library, with the angel holding the demon's arm, walking through the streets of a London still awake.

They chatted quietly, enjoying those moments of normality that they had missed for a long time.

They visited several clubs, but none were suitable for them that evening, taking them for a walk more than they should. In the end they arrived in front of a park, totally surrounded by greenery; both looked at each other and there was no need for words: _it was perfect._

«Darling, do you know what park this is?»

«I think I read in some magazine that there was Holland Park around here»

Of course! How could she not recognize him? Of course it had been years «maybe forty?» since his last visit, then his reference park had become St James's.

«I remembered it differently»

«Have you been here before?»

«A long time ago» he admitted, passing the entrance, being pleasantly impressed by the breathtaking landscapes that those gardens offered «look, a waterfall!» he exclaimed, pointing with his finger, like a child. The demon smiled, amused and at the same time softened, walking towards a stone bench right next to that natural waterfall, as if nature had carved it only for that place.

Aziraphale contemplated it for whole minutes, memorizing every little detail; it was a Japanese themed garden, with almond blossoms and flower buds still closed; he thought that nothing would be better that evening.

It was 6:30 in the afternoon and the sun was still lighting up the sky. Both of them had loved the invention of daylight saving time, a little less solar time, because it allowed them to enjoy an extra hour of light, especially now that they could take advantage of it together.

«What are you thinking about?» said the angel after a few minutes, finding Crowley with his glasses in his hand and his gaze fixed on the water that quickly hit the rocks.

«Nothing important» he shrugged «do you want to... have a picnic?» he asked, arousing an enthusiastic smile in his face.

«Of course! I've been meaning to ask you» he got up, smoothed his waistcoat.

Even the red rose, snapping his fingers; in the next meadow a large red and white checkered tablecloth materialized, with a generous picnic basket, which of course immediately caught the angel's attention.

They sat down, coming out with sandwiches, salads, and of course spoon desserts, to the blond man's delight.

They ate calmly, exchanging accomplice smiles and small gestures still dictated by embarrassment, such as standing around staring at each other without blinking an eye or getting their lips dirty with chocolate ganache (which was immediately swept away using many other methods). That moment of sharing so intimate and lightly made it last as long as possible, until they rested everything inside the basket, I send them back to sit on the tablecloth and enjoy the silence of the park, now almost empty given the evening hours. They had miraculously miraculously lit small candles, so that they could remain illuminated even if enveloped in darkness. Aziraphale could hear the gears in Crowley's head turning fast «Dear, Crowley» took his hand «are you sure everything is all right?»

His gold-eyed companion looked at him, attentive «but also with fear?» then turned his eyes to the fountain in the dark «I was thinking of the water»

«Water?» he asked confusedly, receiving a consent.

«As free as she can be to go where she wants. Of course, leaving aside the tsunamis or floods, because natural disasters are...»

«Crowley?» He blocked him, caressing the back of his hand «you're babbling»

«Oh yeah, right» just coughing, recovering «I was saying... I think about how he has the power to go where he wants to go, when he wants to go»

«But... it's just water, it doesn't have the gift of thought, dear» now the angel was really weird. He didn't want to make Crowley feel uncomfortable, but his speeches were meaningless.

«I know, do I look like I don't know?» what was meant to be a dig sounded like a normal statement.

«Forgive me, but I can't follow you...» and it was true. He didn't understand the logical connection, if he did. He had changed from one moment to the next, just sitting on the bench; he had become silent and careless, as if he had been obscured by a very heavy thought.

The grip on his hand intensified, chaining the irises with his own, digging into it «angel... what if I got married?»

Of all the apocalyptic scenarios he had thought of in that second, that one destabilized him most of all, making him block his breath.

Did you really ask him if he wanted to spend his whole life with him, like a real couple, with no more limitations? Is that what you really wanted?

«I-I... oh, God, is that any way to ask me that?!» He waved on the spot, loosening his bow tie; suddenly it was so hot, even though it was about 20 degrees.

«It just came out like that! And then wait... is that a no» the demon frowned, trying to loosen his grip with his hand, finding resistance.

«Is that a no? I mean, are you out of your mind?!» Aziraphale was having a panic attack, he was sure of that, but was it... a good panic attack?! «we-we've been together for a week, sure, we've known each other for millennia, but I thought this would be a simple date, where we'd eat and joke and then come home and maybe watch a movie and then...»

«ANGEL!» Crowley took him by the shoulders, blocking his flow of thoughts «if you're wondering if my answer is no, I thought about it just now» he tried to calm him down «and I'm scared too, because we were comrades, then enemies, ending up becoming friends and then... here we are, in this park, at 8 in the evening, after a picnic, to celebrate our first week together»

_Oh. Their first week. It had slipped his mind... what a horrible person he was!_

«And stop thinking about the fact that you've forgotten, I know you» I sighed «I swear, I just wanted to do something special with you, but things got out of hand» now even your voice betrayed some tremor, dictated by nervousness «so if you're not ready you can say no, I won't run away»

Aziraphale looked at him, out of breath and heart pounding. His favorite demon... «I've been a coward for too long, Crowley» moved a rebel quiff that had fallen back in front of his face «now I don't want to be one anymore» came closer, remaining just inches away from his lips «and my answer is yes, because I love you more than anything else in the world and I can't imagine a day without you» he sealed that promise by pressing his lips with those of his beloved, who first had a moment of shock, but then returned with more ardor. It seemed like an endless kiss, that one; their lips brushed, swollen, deepening the kiss and caressing themselves deeper, clutching their hands around their crumpled clothes; it was their moment, which they had been waiting for all their lives and which they believed would never come, not for them at least.

It was Crowley who barely broke off to get some air «so is that a yes?»

The angel smiled, opening his eyes to get lost again in his own, ocean versus liquid gold «it's a yes»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody and thanks for reading.  
> The next chapter will be the last.  
> Shimba


	10. The story of Aziraphale and Crowley and their happiness - Of unexpected books, again

**The story of Aziraphale and Crowley and their happiness...**

**Of unexpected books, again**

«Again, again!»

«But darling, I can't tell you again!»

«Richard, leave uncle Aziraphale alone!» a female voice came over from the other room.

«But mom... she's beautiful and I want to know more!» he mumbled that little white voice.

Richard, 7 years old, was a force of nature.

Crowley and Aziraphale were immediately fond of him at the news of Anathema's pregnancy, accepting the great assignment of _uncles_.

Crowley liked to take him to parks, introducing him to and discovering nature, among trees and plants of all kinds. He understood that he appreciated the strange company of that little man with his mother's black eyes and brown hair, taken from his father.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, loved telling him stories; making him travel with his imagination, just as he did, an overgrown child; to his surprise he discovered that the little man loved books.

Just like his mother, in fact, who had handed down that innate gift to him, already at the age of 3, starting with "the ugly duckling", by Andersen.

«Tell me, tell me!» the child, with the shining eyes of curiosity, pressed him.

The angel sighed and smiled good-naturedly «and all right, stand here with me» took him in his arms and sat on the sofa, starting to talk....

_Eight years earlier..._

Aziraphale and Crowley said "yes" one summer day, June 28th.

They had had a few months to prepare everything impeccably but in the end they were not disappointed.

They chose Saint James Park as the place to celebrate the wedding; they had agreed from the beginning to that choice. It was the place that had united them all those years, that had seen them socialize, fight, laugh and love each other in the dark. It had to be the place to unite for eternity, promising fidelity, love and support.

It had been a simple and intimate ceremony, with people who had become, over time, not only companions of _their faction_ during the near Apocalypse, but also dear friends, even if Crowley would never have admitted it, with the pride that he found himself, but it was enough Aziraphale to remind him.

Both dressed in tuxedoes, white of the angel and black of the demon, had walked together the path that separated them from the stage that in the past had seen them share in a final break for both, but that had done nothing but bring them even closer, ending well ... where they had arrived at that precise moment, with the angel arm in arm with the demon who looked forward, visibly excited and nervous.

Anathema attended their union, speaking arm in arm, without any studied script but only with emotion and love in his heart.

«Aziraphale, your promises»

The blond looked the red witch in the face, coughing just to ease the tension that had dried up his throat «yes. So...» he looked first at the demon, then at his friends, and he stormed off «oh sorry, I'm so excited!» He admits with an exasperated moan, unleashing a resolution from everyone, even Crowley.

«Angel, it's all right» he calmed him down, smiling with golden eyes, without glasses. Aziraphale had been categorical: he wanted to look him in the eyes during their moment, without objecting.

And so she had pleased him, showing herself to everyone in her true nature, just for him.

The angel got lost in his eyes and felt calm «mh yes dear, you're right, everything is fine» smiled at him «I... I have always loved you, since the beginning of time. It took me a while to understand it» a _few hundred years_ «but when it happened at first I denied it, then I accepted it, because loving you... loving you gives me a sense in this Earth. There is no more Heaven or Hell, we have _our_ faction that doesn't allow wars and useless suffering, only us... with all the mystery of the future, my dear. And I promise to love you for as long as we stay here and beyond, because no one will be able to separate us. For all eternity Crowley» he finished his little monologue, with blushing cheeks, shiny eyes and a light breath.

There was only a loud silence, interrupted by Madame Tracy blowing her nose into the handkerchief, visibly excited. Anathema smiled radiantly at him, his eyes veiled in tears «Crowley, now it's your turn»

The demon nodded, trying to pull himself together after the words of his beloved.

«Angel, I think this is the craziest thing I've done in 6,000 years, but I can't regret it. You've known me as a demon who had just disrupted God's plans, an angel who fell because of his pride. And yet you were not afraid to talk to me, to protect me under your wing during the first rain» he recalled, chaining his eyes with the angel's grey eyes «you gave me strength during the Universal Flood, so that I would not give in to anger, and you trusted me when you gave me holy water... of course, it took a hundred years...» another laugh from everyone, even Aziraphale himself «but it was worth the wait and I'm not talking about holy water, my dear angel. I'd do it all over again, every mistake, every hesitation. I'd still make fun of you for your questionable taste in clothes and the amount of food you eat and I'd fall even more in love with you than I already am, because I love everything about you and I respect you and don't let anyone, no one, say you're not enough, because you're the best part of me»

«Oh, dear...» the blond man murmured in a broken voice, wiping away his tears «I promised myself I wouldn't cry but that's not possible»

And finally Anathema uttered those words «with the power vested in me by the City of London, you may now kiss the bride, Crowley»

Did the angel look at you funny, _bride?_ But that thought remained unanswered when the demon took him by the hips and pushed him towards himself, kissing him.

It was a good marriage, theirs. They had spent most of the night celebrating and dancing, wrapped in that quiet atmosphere full of love.

«Angel? Angel can you hear me?» Crowley reprimanded him, looking at him questionably.

Aziraphale shook his head, blinked a couple of times «Hmm? Yes, dear, I was thoughtful» he smiled tenderly at him.

«Uncle Aziraphale was telling me about your marriage» a white little voice came in, Richard's, still sitting on his legs.

Crowley mentioned a smile, sitting next to them «again, kid? We've told you a thousand times, aren't you tired?» the boy denied with his head, moving his brown hair.

And it was true, he loved that story; much better than the fairy tales his mother read him! Neither of them had fallen under a spell and _fortunately_ they had not found each other thanks to True Love's kiss. He didn't like all those corny scenes, he preferred the real things, the things that could really happen.

His mother had always told him that he was too mature for his young age, but although he had the intelligence of Anathema, he also continued to have great creativity and imagination, just like his father, Newton.

It was the witch herself who joined them in the living room, taking off her apron. In the background she was preparing lunch for her friends and seemed to have cooked for an entire regiment!

«Rick, don't bother the uncles. Rather, why don't you go play outside with daddy?»

The child puffed, taking on an expression very similar to his mother's «because dad can't play ball... and my computer hasn't turned on since he touched it!» he moaned, distraught. They could «and let's say, they could» have omitted the news that his father was terrible with technology and that he had stopped an Apocalypse like that, blowing up all the computers on a military base, but maybe for that information it was better to let a few years go by.

The witch opened her arms, reassuring him «you'll see that the next time you turn it on it will work»

«Are you sure?»

«Remember that this is the word of his mother, little man» she hugged him, looking at the angel, who felt in awe. _Fix that computer angel, because my husband is a total failure._

As if to hear those thoughts, the blond nodded, perhaps more frightened by his gaze than by the movement of availability that he used to have.

Crowley looked at the scene and smiled obliquely, shaking her husband's hand. Getting a child to set him straight, unbelievable!

He had begun to appreciate the witch's assiduous presence with his family. Aziraphale had always told him; being immortal didn't mean not being able to have affections, and they would enjoy them as much as possible.

That was the most melancholy part of a supernatural being: mocking death. Perhaps human beings thought it was a good thing not to be able to die, but it could be considered torture in the long run, especially if you had no one to share it with. Friends lived their own lives and then, as nature had reminded them too many times, they abandoned that world to become part of Hell or Paradise, leaving a great void.

He remembered every friend who died, from Julium Caesar to Carlo Magnus, from Baudelaire to D'Annunzio; he was also very sorry for Michelangelo, that undisputed genius who had painted priceless works. He had never understood art, what it felt like to be trapped behind a painting for minutes, but his works... yes, they were to be admired in silence and with admiration.

He waved his head as soon as he could, sending his thoughts away; he was there and his angel was with him, that was enough.

He saw Aziraphale slowly snap his fingers and smile at Anathema, who reciprocated. Apparently that idiot husband of hers would have taken all the compliments, even if the credit was due to her husband.

«Guys, it's ready at the table. Rick, go get your dad» she said, getting back on his feet. The boy jumped down from the angel's legs and ran into the garden. Ah, there was one thing he had taken from his uncle besides a passion for books: a love of food, especially what his mother prepared for him.

When everyone came in they sat down and ate, talking like a normal couple of friends, on a summer Sunday.

Aziraphale took off his beige jacket, resting it on the bed. It had been a nice afternoon and he felt very relaxed and satisfied, especially for the pesto lasagne prepared by his friend. _A memory of Italy_ , she told him. He had written down the recipe for a ~~very distant~~ future, if he wanted to experiment in the kitchen and grab her husband by the throat. She smiled instinctively, loosening her bow tie and opening the window. The warm air of July enveloped him, causing him to breathe in full.

A few months after the wedding they had bought a small cottage in Tadfield; the bookcase was always open, it would never close, but their life was now there, in that not very big and rustic house, with big wooden planks on the roof and many plants to satisfy their husband and ~~his big ego~~.

He was at peace there and finally happy as he had never been before. He looked at his white gold ring finger and thought about how much time he had to spend before confessing his feelings, the quarrel that had changed their relationship forever, changing from friendship to unconditional love.

Suddenly he felt himself hugging from behind and Crowley's face ended above his shoulder «what are you thinking?»

The angel shrugged, smiling «to us, dear» continued to look at those expanses of cultivated fields - at our history.

The demon smiled, kissing his cheek «and would you change something of our experience, angel?»

«I wouldn't change a single comma of everything that's happened over all these millennia, Crowley»

And at that moment it was the demon's turn to let go of tenderness. His rough and ironic temperament had softened as he dated that angel. He had taken different human behaviors, such as nibbling every now and then or going _shopping_ , praying, but he did it anyway; also different physical behaviors had changed, such as the heartbeat that accelerated when her husband smiled or took her hand or the desire to slow down the rhythms of her life, because she had _all the time in the world._

«Neither do I, angel, neither do I»

It was almost sunset there, in that town in central-southern England, and the singing of the cicadas was the background sound.

Aziraphale was sitting in her now faithful rocking chair, in the courtyard, leafing through one of her favourite books, Jane Eyre, always rereading it with pleasure.

When they had moved in, he had had to leave a lot of books in the bookstore, because he had only realized at that moment the enormous amount of volumes.

He kept a bookcase in his living room, with all his favourite volumes which, contrary to Crowley's belief, were around 150 and he had brought them all with him.

_If you wanted the house invaded by your books, we'd have stayed at the bookstore!_ She screamed at him once, upset.

Well, they had come to an agreement in the end: his favourite books for his favourite plants; not that they were many, but they took up far too much space, which they didn't have and so both had given up something to make the other happy.

His reading was interrupted by Crowley who, very gently, had placed another volume on top of his book.

«What's expensive?» he looked at that curious volume.

«Take a good look at Aziraphale» he saw him smile smart and he didn't like it.

He turned the cover and was banned, reading _Fifty Shades of Red._

He rolled his eyes, looking surprised «Crowley, it's been 8 years!»

«I know, but if there's one thing I appreciate about books, it's that they never age»

The angel stood up, still surprised and with red cheeks «you still remember»

The demon circled his hips, bringing him closer to him «and how could he forget the book that changed everything?» he smiled, with those golden eyes that were so loved by her husband.

«It wasn't the book, it was the movie»

«But without the book you would never have known him»

«And we wouldn't fight»

«And you would never kiss me»

«Touchè»

«Touchè» concluded the demon, regaining possession of the angel's lips «will you read it?»

The blond nodded, caressing his face «I will» he saw a smile appear behind those tempting lips «if you will read Pride and Prejudice»

«But Aziraphale!» he complained, frustrated. Hell, he thought he'd won easy!

_There's too much gossip, it's not the right book for me! Demons don't read! If we already have our marriage, why read about troubled love?_

He tried to convince him by throwing down that apology series, but he couldn't. When his angel was convinced of one thing, it was impossible to change his mind. They were the same from that point of view.

«All right!»

The blond man's smile was one of the brightest smiles he ever had «thank you dear! You really are a darling!» he left a kiss on his cheek, seeing him blush, but also huffing.

«I'm only doing this for the damn book!»

«Mm-hmm» nodded victoriously, kissing him with gusto.

He had to shut him up somehow; those lips could be used for more pleasant purposes.

And so it was that an angel and a demon, once enemies, after allies, then friends and finally lovers, husbands, life companions lived their new reality, made of small gestures, but big emotions.

And as Oscar Wilde said, to _love is to overcome oneself,_ and Aziraphale and Crowley had done it not without fear, but with great, enormous courage, which had brought them there, after 8 years, to love each other like the first day, just before the great, first rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody and thanks for reading.  
> The story's over. I hope you enjoyed reading it.  
> See you soon, Shimba.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everybody!  
> I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Shimba


End file.
